


Paradise Found

by grapehyasynth



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: ANGST STAY AWAY, Beaches, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, No Angst, SEYCHELLES - Freeform, Sexytimes, Vacation, okay like mild angst but it vanishes v fast, omg all the flirting, some Huntingbird!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-06-09 04:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 22,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6890641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapehyasynth/pseuds/grapehyasynth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FitzSimmons on vacay in the Seychelles. Fluffy, sexy, silly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all best be making some excellent FS Seychelles manips and drawings because that shit is just ASKING to be created!!!

This will be, Fitz is fairly certain, the first time he has ever seen Jemma in a bathing suit. Not that he hasn’t seen her in less -- but it’s somehow different, here, where it’s public, where the point is to keep those little bits of clothing _on_ rather than get them off as quickly as possible, where she’ll be walking hand-in-hand with him, Leopold Motherloving Fitz, for all the world to see. 

He isn’t sure whether he’s about to be sick or take flight. 

He’s considering whether to do some last-minute push-ups when she finally exits the bathroom. His heart stops, truly stops, he’s sure, even though she’s wearing a thin periwinkle dress over everything. The tie on her bathing suit top peeks just over the back of her neckline, where a few stray strands of hair have floated down from her loose bun. 

Then he notices her sassy smile and the spell is broken. 

“Alright, stop gloating,” he mutters, gathering up his things for the beach. “You tell a woman she’s beautiful _one time_...” 

“I’m insecure and desperate for affection,” Jemma shrugs, though they both know that’s not true. “Can’t be helped.” 

This time it’s his turn to roll his eyes and he enjoys it a bit too much when he walks towards her and he sees her stand a little straighter, her eyes focusing in on his face as some of her bravado slips. He reaches out towards her hip before letting his hand drift left to her wrist, which he touches so that she turns over her hand, into which he drops their key. 

“Come on, I’m famished.” 

“When are you not?” she demands, sounding a little peeved as he moves away from her without further contact. 

“It means I have a healthy survival instinct.” 

“Science would disagree,” she tuts, but he holds the door to their private hut open and she softens, picking up her bag and leading him out. 

“Couldn’t’ve gotten one with the infinity pools?” he sighs longingly, gazing over to the exclusive sector of the resort. 

“Unless you’ve started a sex toy business on the side--” 

“I suggested that as a joke!” 

“--the agency is being generous enough letting us stay here at all, they could have told us to go to -- Cleveland, or ... Glasgow, perish the thought--” 

“Watch it!” He grabs the sunglasses off her head and pushes them up his nose, darting ahead of her across the hot white sand. “You’re trapped with me for the next six days, you’d best be nice to me if you want me to do that thing again--” 

“I’m sure there are plenty of well-formed men in town,” Jemma replies coolly, not bothering to increase her pace to catch him. 

“None of them know what you like,” he reminds her confidently, slowing so that he’s even with her again and reaching down a hand to brush against the skin just under the hem of her dress. “Not as well as I do...”

“Fitz!” Jemma slaps his hand away. “There are _people_ \--” 

“They’ll be seeing it soon anyway, shouldn’t I get a sneak preview?” Fitz pouts. 

“Oh don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your while.” 

They’ve reached the beachside restaurant, so Fitz doesn’t even have a chance to ask all the questions that are suddenly setting his cheeks aflame. He almost misses the chair he pulls out blindly and only just avoids landing hard on his arse. 

Jemma takes the sunglasses back from Fitz while he’s distracted and pushes them up in her hair. She scrunches up her nose while reading the drinks card and the motion somehow exaggerates the freckles and Fitz only realizes when the waiter appears that he still hasn’t opened his menu. He does so hastily while Jemma orders. 

“I’ll have, uhhh, Sex on the Beach, please.” 

Fitz chokes, because Jemma’s clearly slipped off one flip-flop and is tracing his ankle with her toes. God, he will most definitely not be surviving this trip. 

“And for you, sir?” 

“I’m, um--” 

Jemma looks at him expectantly. 

“Pasta?” he says desperately, not even consulting the menu. “With, er, sauce?” 

“I’ll see what I can find,” the waiter -- bless him -- replies simply, taking their menus. 

“Pasta?” Jemma queries.

“I have a feeling I’ll be needing my energy tonight,” Fitz shoots back smugly, determined to regain ground. “Or this afternoon.” 

“Dr. Fitz, I’m starting to think you only want me for my body!” 

“No, Jemma, I never meant it like that--” he says frantically, reaching across the table to her. 

“Honestly, _how_ do you survive in our organization?” she whispers, leaning towards him. “If you can’t tell when _I’m_ joking...” 

“I’d just rather not take chances on it,” he huffs, slouching back in his seat. 

Jemma tilts her head, looking at him fondly. “Fitz.” She hesitates, then scooches her chair around next to him. “I know there’s not any one thing I can do to convince you that I’m never letting you go, but I’m hoping we can spend this trip figuring out ways to work towards that place.” 

“Is that what this is about?” he asks, catching her hand where it rests on her thigh and linking their fingers. “Proving something to me? That you’re _romantic_ , perhaps?” 

“Not entirely,” she defends, coloring. “I wanted time for us together. But... I thought I’d have a go at the romance thing, since we’re here.” 

He gazes at her, and he knows it’s one of those gazes she calls his soul-melting, starry-eyed looks, but he can’t help it, even if he wanted to. “What, the Playground wasn’t romantic enough for you?” 

“Well, I’m hoping much of what we do here will transfer back there...” His fingers twitch in hers and he clears his throat again but she continues, “...since what kind of partnership would that be, if it required constant sunshine and cocktails to sustain itself, but... it is rather ... sensual, isn’t it?” 

This woman. Would be. The death. Of Leopold Motherloving Fitz. 

When the food comes, Jemma eats half of his pasta, as he’d expected. 

After settling the check, they traipse back out onto the sand to find a spot for the afternoon. Fitz lays out a large blanket while Jemma roots around in her bag for something. He’s just about to sprawl out and go back to sleep -- he’s already been up for two hours, and the way Jemma is running him ragged, he’s definitely earned a nap -- when she turns to him with the sunscreen lotion. She’s brought the highest SPF available (“Fitz, there are no two people more likely to go from human porridge to human tomatoes in the span of ten minutes than the two of us”), which she is currently brandishing at him. 

“Do me?” 

He accepts the tube, not yet fully comprehending, but then she stands and lifts the bottom edge of her dress, tugging it up and over her head -- it gets stuck a bit on the bun but Fitz isn’t in a position to judge others for awkward interludes in the middle of sexy montages -- and dropping it on the sand. 

Fitz looks at the sunscreen, then at Jemma’s tiny navy bikini and the extensive swath of skin it reveals, then back at the sunscreen. She may be his girlfriend, but he still gulps in terror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr to cry/celebrate all things AOS: grapehyasynth over there as well


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol  
> i'm trash  
> i'm back already  
> less than twelve hours later

Jemma has spent entirely too much of her life not being touched, she decides. She enjoys being touched much more than she’d ever known -- though that may have something to do with the man doing the touching. 

She lays on her stomach, her arms crossed and her head laid upon them, eyes closed as Fitz applies sunscreen to her back. His fingers swipe under the tie of her bathing suit then trace down her vertebrae to run along the dip in her back just before her bikini bottoms. 

He’s definitely covered her whole back already, but she doesn’t say anything as his hands brush back up to her shoulders, setting into more of a massage than anything that could be hoped to effectively spread the lotion. She snorts into her elbow, imagining the erection he must have right now, but his thumbs press into her tight trapezius and he does something in a rolling motion that takes in her whole shoulders and she’s _literally_ getting a massage from her perfect boyfriend on a tropical beach and she’s certainly not stopping him anytime soon. 

“Did you, erm, want me to do your front as well?” Fitz finally asks, sitting back on his heels, his hands reluctantly leaving her sun-warmed (and Fitz-warmed) skin. 

“I think I’d best take care of that,” she teases, “lest we make the others uncomfortable.” 

There are probably five other people in the whole quarter-mile of beach but he nods fervently and scoots back so she can roll over and sit up. 

She glances down as she begins to lotion her stomach and notices that her erect nipples are visible through the bathing suit. She thinks for a second about being ashamed or prudish or turning away so Fitz can’t see but lord knows the boy can use some positive reinforcement, so she does nothing to hide it. 

“Want me to do your back?” she asks over her shoulder as she finishes her legs and dollops some lotion on her nose to spread over her face. 

“Erm--” Fitz freezes, his shirt halfway over his head. “I’ll, uh, I’ll just do it myself.” 

She refrains from making a comment and enjoys the view for the seconds before he’s out of the shirt and will hide himself from her. He’s continually shy about his body, no matter how she praises it, no matter how he literally uses it to drive her wild. He’s certainly not winning any body-building contests but they do work for S.H.I.E.L.D., and he’s done enough climbing through vents and lifting equipment to have some muscle tone, as she’s explored at length. 

“Oi, I’m up here,” he says, snapping his removed shirt at her. She doesn’t move to avoid it and lets her gaze drift pointedly up across his chest before meeting his eyes. She shrugs unapologetically. 

“Ogling is a two-way street,” she reminds him. 

“Not when one side of the street is reserved for Porsches and the other for those dinky little cars from East Germany.” 

“Aww, Trabis were _cute_ , Fitz!” 

“Not the vibe I was going for,” he mutters, balling his shirt up and twisting away from her. 

“Hey.” She pursues him, running both hands down his back, enjoying the way goosebumps rise up despite the direct sun. “I didn’t say _you_ were a Trabi. Not that you’re not cute, just... this Porsche is quite happy with her driver.” 

He laughs and it vibrates through her hands. She thinks about offering again to lotion him up but also looks forward to the bizarre burn he’s sure to have this evening if he tries it himself, so she sits back as he awkwardly dumps the white paste onto his shoulders and smears it around, contorting himself to try to reach everywhere. Jemma lays back, shielding her eyes with a hand and very purposefully not laughing. 

When he’s finished, Fitz looks around, at the surf, at the resort, at her. “What now?” 

“Part of the point of this trip is to do nothing, Fitz.” 

“How, exactly, does one do that?” he asks, squinting at her. 

They share a grin. “It has been a while,” she admits. 

“I’m going into the water,” he decides, standing so that he casts a shadow across her. 

“You’ve got to let the lotion sit for a moment or it’ll wash right off,” she reminds him. 

“I’ll only go in up to my knees.” 

“The water might be cold.” 

Fitz glances out at the pristine turquoise water. “Jemma, that water is probably a hot tub. Besides, my body acclimates much more quickly than yours.” 

“Really? I thought you only had one setting -- smoking hot.” 

He groans at her terrible line, dropping his hands dramatically to his knees to bend over in agony. “This is what I have to deal with all week? Make it stop!” 

“Come over here and make me.” 

“You just don’t want me out of your sight,” he accuses, nudging her hip with his toes. 

“Yes,” she answers truthfully, drawing her knees up. 

“I’ll be back before you’ve missed me,” he promises, swooping to kiss her nose before bounding away, prancing theatrically across the sand (when he’s not slipping on it and almost falling). 

In truth, she’s almost fallen asleep with her book across her chest by the time he comes running back, skidding onto the blanket beside her with a momentum that kicks sand up around their feet. 

“Jemma, Jemma, look!” 

She cracks an eye open, then sees what he has and pushes the book away, rolling onto her stomach beside him. 

“Fitz! There must be at least a dozen different shells here!” 

“Yeah, I know,” he says with a grin, shifting them towards her on the blanket. “Look at this one -- look how it’s all twisty -- and this one’s got a really beautiful dark amber tone that reminds me of, um--” He glances up at her and blushes. “Well, now that I see your eyes again I don’t know what I was thinking, there’s no real comparison, but--” 

“I could spend weeks cataloging all the different specimens here, if this is what you found in just that short time,” she breaths, sifting through the shells. 

“She sells seashells by the Seychelles seashore,” Fitz intones. 

“You practiced that the whole walk back here, didn’t you?” 

“Believe it or not, _Simmons_ , there are still some things which prove challenging as a result of my hypoxia, despite how I might present.” 

“Oh dear, Fitz,” she says quickly, wrapping a hand around his wrist. “I didn’t think--” 

“ ‘s alright,” he assures her, kissing her shoulder. “I’m not calling you out. Besides, I’d like to hear _you_ say it three times fast.” 

“Fitz--” 

“No, the other thing -- the ‘she sells’ bit--” 

“No, Fitz, I -- I didn’t think -- I’ve signed us up for snorkeling tomorrow and it only just hit me how you might feel about that--” 

Fitz turns onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow, and regards her carefully. “I honestly thought you were kidding about the snorkeling.” 

Her brow furrows. “What did you think I meant?” 

“Forget it. Uhhh...” He scrubs a hand across his face. “I think it’ll be okay, honestly. Might need to go easy on me, but I stopped having panic attacks in the shower last month so I might be ready for the ocean.” 

“Fitz!” she cries, burying her face in her hands. 

“Okay, not ready to joke about that yet, I get it.” He settles once more onto his stomach, rubbing a hand soothingly across her bare back. “But really, Jem, I’d like to try. If it works, it works. If it doesn’t, we go back to the hut and try something else.” 

“Like what you were imagining when you thought I _wasn’t_ talking about snorkeling?” 

“Something like that, yeah, if you’re game.” 

Jemma nods, sliding closer to him so that his hand drapes over her waist. “I’m game if you are.” 

“Shall we go find some more shells?” 

“Yes, just -- let’s stay here for a moment longer,” Jemma murmurs, snuggling up against Fitz, warmed from all sides.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, I'm feeling crummy from anxiety today but wanted to write this because these two in the Seychelles are perfection and you've all been so wonderful and supportive... So hopefully none of my anxiety came through and it still feels fluffy and happy :)

“We should really go now,” Jemma sighs. 

“Before the sun sets,” Fitz agrees. 

“And we miss our opportunity to hike.” 

He looks down at her where she’s sprawled across the bed, limbs flung out. Their hours in the direct sun on the beach had left them both exhausted, and Jemma’s not moved since they came back to the hut to change for their next planned excursion. Fitz grins unabashedly to himself, chest swelling as he takes her in.

Jemma peaks at him between her fingers. “Five more minutes can’t hurt, right?” 

Fitz closes his book and gets up from the loveseat to lay down next to her. 

Or, well, he tries. 

“Shit!” he yelps, sitting back up again. 

“Wha--” Jemma reaches out a hand to him. 

“My sunburn,” he mutters, trying to pull the back of his shirt away so that it won’t rub excruciatingly against his raw skin. Jemma settles back with a smug grin. “Alright, thanks for your support in my time of anguish,” he chides her. 

“I offered to help you,” she reminds him. “First with the sunscreen, then with the aloe --” 

“Maybe tomorrow,” he grumbles. “For now--” 

He falls back onto the bed on his side, sliding an arm under her waist so that he can roll her over and pull her to him in one motion. She squeaks in surprise but now she is snuggled against his chest, both of his arms totally encircling her, and she squirms back against him to fit them further together. Their legs slot between each other and she tilts her head into the pillows so he can rest his chin on her shoulder. 

“No pain,” he reports, kissing her cheek. “We may have to sleep like this for the next couple of days, til my skin heals.” 

“Tragic.” One of her hands traces up and down his bicep, just sliding under the arm of his T-shirt with each pass. 

Fitz sighs heavily behind her, shifting so that he’s not pressing insistently into her arse. As much as he likes reminding her how attractive she is, there are moments like this when he wants them to be absolutely comfortable and together without needing to make it sexual. 

“Five minutes,” he agrees with her earlier question. “Then we’ll go.” 

She hums in response and it reaches all the way through to his chest. It’s a delicious feeling, there’s no other adjective for it. 

They are quiet for a long moment, their fingers tracing over each other, watching patterns of sunlight through the thin walls of their hut. 

“Do you remember,” Fitz eventually whispers, making Jemma giggle as his lips brush her ear, “that terrible trip we all took down the east coast our third year at the Academy?” 

Jemma breaks into a full laugh, bringing one hand up to her forehead. “We thought it was some sort of _academic extension_ but it was really just pub crawls in seven different cities--” 

“You enjoyed yourself, after a fashion, though I thought I’d have to tear you off a bouncer or two after they tried to keep us out for wearing plaid button-ups and argyle sweaters.” 

“I did get quite a few numbers, though, even without wearing some skimpy little thing,” Jemma says smugly. 

Fitz chooses to ignore the nauseous twist of jealousy in his gut, especially as Jemma’s fingers are now tracing the bones of his wrist and he knows none of the owners of those numbers ever got that pleasure. “And do you remember the night we went to that outdoor movie?” 

“Ooh, it was freezing!” she shivers forcefully. “Do you remember what we saw?” 

“No, I don’t,” he says firmly, “because you were so cold that you crawled all up against me and made me keep you warm. It was impossible to focus with you close like that.” 

Her fingers still. “Even then?” she asks, her voice very soft. 

“Always.” 

Jemma sucks in a deep breath and he’s afraid he’s done it again, put too much emotion in when he should have kept it light. “Jem, I’m sorry--”

“No,” she says quickly, obviously having understood where he was going with that thought, and laces her fingers through his to pull him tighter around her. “It’s not that. It’s -- Fitz, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you saying things like that. Not because they’re not perfect, because they are, but because I didn’t know it was possible to feel this... this _much_ , and it’s almost painful sometimes.” 

“That doesn’t sound like a fun time,” he tries to laugh, but there is a tightness in his lungs and behind his eyes that makes his voice shake. 

She turns her head away from him, speaking more towards the mattress. “I don’t know that I ever realized the absence of this closeness until it was offered to me -- I think that’s why I was content to be just friends with you for so long, because before that even the idea of having a best friend seemed preposterous. I could be social and successful and never really get to know anyone, and because I didn’t know what it felt like to be seen or understood or cared for, I didn’t miss it. So this--” She shrugs, shifting both of them with the motion. “This will never cease to be incredible to me. Every day with you is an astronomical discovery.” 

Fitz presses his eyes closed, afraid he’s about to cry into her hair, and settles for pressing kisses down her neck instead, squeezing her hands with each touch. “So you’re admitting you were a fool and that I was right years ago?” he teases, his voice watery. 

“And _who’s_ the more romantic one?” she demands, trapping his knee between her legs and tickling his ankle with her toes. (He’s not ticklish, but the sentiment is understood.) 

“Fitz,” she says suddenly, as if struck by an important thought, “who was your first kiss?” 

“Oh god,” he says automatically, and she laughs. 

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to say if you don’t want. I just... have been thinking about it.” 

“Think about other women kissing me a lot, do you, Jemma?” 

“No need to make it sound pornographic!” she scolds. He wishes he could see her face, but he bets she can feel his own grin pushing against her cheek. This isn’t exactly safe territory, but he’ll always feel better with conversations that make Jemma chide him than those that reveal the true depth of his absolute besottedness. 

“It was Alexandra Keller, in the fourth grade,” he answers slowly, squinting as he conjures up what is not the most pleasant of memories. “Rather mauled me.” 

Jemma snorts. “The fourth grade? Anyone since then?” 

“There were a few girls at the Academy, but just like with Alexandra, it was more them attacking my face than anything going on from my direction. I usually only understood what was happening and started responding by the time they were pulling back. The last one was rather fond of the tongue.” 

“Alright, that’s quite enough information,” Jemma mutters. “Which girls at the Academy?” 

“Uh-uh, I’ve seen what you’re capable of with a fire extinguisher or an ICER, I’m not setting you loose on some poor former classmate of ours. It’s not their fault I’ve always been devilishly handsome.”

“Right,” Jemma says distractedly, obviously not really hearing him, and he’s known her long enough to detect some disappointment. 

“Hang on, you didn’t think--” He leans around her just enough to see her face, which she’s determinedly trying to hide from him. Her brow is furrowed slightly and he laughs delightedly. “Jemma, you’re actually upset you weren’t my first kiss!” 

“Am not!” she snaps. “I knew I couldn’t be, you were much too good, but I still thought perhaps...” 

“Perhaps I was truly a boy genius in all aspects of the human experience?” 

“Well, you have shown an impressive proclivity for many aspects of sexual engagement,” Jemma comments, suddenly seeming very content and relaxing into his arms again. 

He chuckles and shakes his head. 

They spend the next three hours like that, tangled up together, reminiscing and sharing secrets which despite ten years of friendship have never come up. They miss all of the rest of the afternoon and the sunset and only separate when their rumbling stomachs become impossible to ignore. 

“Sorry we mucked up your itinerary,” Fitz says on the way to dinner. 

“I couldn’t have planned a better afternoon.” Jemma smiles up at him and wraps an arm around his waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this scene was actually inspired by a very real afternoon I spent with a "friend" who continued to insist we were just friends despite many moments like this .... it was actually a bit therapeutic to turn it into something more positive ;) 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr! I love friends. I'm grapehyasynth over there as well.


	4. Chapter 4

“I think I might order pasta,” Jemma muses as she pushes aside the beads hanging in the restaurant doorway so that Fitz can pass through. 

“Big plans for tonight?” he asks so eagerly she can’t suppress a quick grin.

“You know it doesn’t metabolize that quickly,” she scolds, forcing her face back to stoic. “I was thinking ahead to tomorrow’s activities -- snorkeling, maybe another go at that hike--” 

“Oh.” His face noticeably falls. She knows she could feel guilty, always winding him up this way, but he has a tendency to tease her mid-coitus so this seems like fair turnabout. 

“But if something happens tonight that requires a little extra exertion, well,” Jemma murmurs, linking her arm through his as they approach the host, “I have some energy gels in my luggage.” 

He snorts in laughter and this time they both try to straighten their faces as the host greets them. 

“Table for two, please,” Fitz requests. Jemma smiles up at him, thinking of all the times they said those words as _just friends_ and how hearing him say it now makes her float. 

“Right this wa---”

“SHUT THE BACK DOOR!” 

They both jump, as does the host, and Fitz clutches at Jemma’s waist in surprise as they pivot to look into the restaurant. It’s half-empty, which is to be expected at this late hour, but the source of the shout is a couple towards the back. The man has gotten to his feet and is waving frantically at them. 

“No,” Jemma breathes, her jaw dropping. 

“Is that--” 

“It definitely is.” 

“Shall I add some chairs to your friends’ table?” the host cuts in. 

“Yes please,” they say in unison and make a beeline towards the pair. 

“I told you!” Hunter is saying over and over to Bobbi as they approach. “I told you it was them--” He turns to clap Fitz and Jemma forcefully on their backs, nearly sending Jemma toppling into Bobbi’s lap. 

Bobbi grabs Jemma’s hand to stabilize her and grins up at her. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you guys are actually here! Sit down, sit down.” 

The host has pulled up chairs and makes to bring one around to the far side of the table but Fitz intercepts it so that he and Jemma can sit on the same side. 

“What are you two doing in the Seychelles?” Jemma asks, glancing between them. 

“Actually taking a vacation, finally. We’re posing as a rich heiress and her lackey,” Bobbi explains. 

“Fiance,” Hunter corrects, “her well-endowed fiance, in all senses of the word--” 

“He’s having a little trouble with the humility aspect of the backstory.” 

“And you two?” Hunter leans forward to whisper, and Jemma can tell he’s already several drinks in. “Are you here undercover as well? Coulson and them all, are they here too?” 

“No, it’s just us,” Jemma replies, shooting a little smile at Fitz. “We thought it was time--”

“We took a vacation as well,” Fitz finishes for her. 

“I was going to say ‘got our shit together and started dating’,” Jemma chuckles, taking his hands from his lap and intertwining their fingers, “but that’s true too, I suppose.” 

“I knew it! You -- you -- you magnificent little--” Hunter surges forward and grabs Fitz’s head with both hands to plant a kiss straight on his mouth. He leans across Fitz to do the same thing to Jemma but she guides him into a hug instead (though he still kisses her cheek as they part). 

“About goddamn time,” Bobbi sighs, shaking her head, but she’s smiling too. 

“A round of drinks on me!” Hunter calls to the bartender, rising out of his seat. “Actually, put it on my fiancee’s tab, I hear she has money to burn.” He settles back down, a shit-eating grin spread across his whole face, and grabs Fitz’s knee, shaking it in what he apparently believes is a congratulatory gesture but which, from Fitz’s expression, is more of an assault. 

“How much time did Coulson give you?” Bobbi asks. 

“Well, May’s director now,” Jemma corrects. 

“Long story,” Fitz sighs in answer to their gasps. “And not a cheery one. Best saved for another night, I think.” 

“We’ve six days. We just got here last night. Will you be here long?” 

“Ah, we’re headed out day after tomorrow. We’ve been here almost a month.” Bobbi and Hunter both giggle and Jemma’s draw drops -- it’s the most carefree and, dare she say, in love she has ever seen the pair. 

The waiter comes around with drinks -- four of whatever Bobbi and Hunter had been previously sharing, something strong and smoky that Jemma wouldn’t have liked just months before but which has grown on her since she’s started stealing sips from Fitz’s drinks when they're out to dinner -- and they all toast.

“How’ve you been keeping since you, er, left the Agency?” Fitz asks, swirling his drink and draping an arm over the back of Jemma’s chair, his fingertips just brushing her far shoulder. 

“Mostly doing work on commission,” Bobbi explains. 

“Occasionally making people offers they simply cannot refuse,” Hunter adds. 

“Thought about going straight, becoming accountants or something, but we didn’t have it in us. Besides, with just a few months’ independent contracting we were able to afford a month at this resort.” 

“How’ve you spent a month here?” Jemma laughs. “The two of you aren’t exactly lazybones, what’ve you been doing?” 

They both snort into their drinks. “Sex. Lots of it,” Hunter says with a lewd grin at Bobbi. “Everywhere we can think of. Have you tried the little cove down the south side of the beach?” 

“Y’know, somehow, despite being here a full twenty-four hours, we haven’t actually gotten around to _that_ , yet.” Despite the obvious flush in his cheeks, Fitz is clearly feeling confident, Jemma thinks, as he gives her a sustained, scolding look. 

“To be fair we’ve seen a good bit of the islands, done some hiking and food tours, but yeah, honestly, mostly it’s been sex,” Bobbi agrees. She lifts her glass for another sip, then says to Jemma, “Is there something on my face?” 

Jemma realizes she’s been staring intently. “No, sorry, I just -- I’ve never seen you two like this. You’re so -- at ease, and happy, and--” 

“I was just thinking the same about you,” Bobbi insists, leaning towards them. “I mean, Hunter and I, you know, we’ve been doing this thing forever, but you two can’t have been together more than a couple of months at most and it’s already like--” She gestures between them, at the perfect synchronicity of their expressions and the way they’re wedged against each other.

“Well, we were _practically_ dating for ten years,” Jemma notes. 

“We just forgot to tell each other,” Fitz concurs, gazing down at her. . 

It shouldn’t be this easy, Jemma thinks as Hunter slumps forward across the table, whimpering about it all being too beautiful to bear, to speak like this in front of other people. So many years they couldn’t even say it to each other and suddenly it’s hard to _stop_ talking about it. She reaches a hand up unconsciously to brush through the hair at Fitz’s temple. Moments like this threaten to overwhelm her with regret for time lost and decisions poorly made.

Fitz must know the look in her eyes, though, because he doesn’t let her go to that place, instead ducking his head to kiss her gently. She chases his lips when he pulls back and responds more insistently, refusing to let any of his gestures go unanswered. Not anymore. 

“I think we’re gonna need another round,” Bobbi smirks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So honestly any chapter where Fitzsimmons are not literally cuddling feels wasted to me but I really wanted to bring Huntingbird in (as so many people have been discussing on Tumblr in all Seychelles-related contexts) so hopefully this worked okay! 
> 
> I'm going to continue this fic as long as possible because it's buckets of fun!! I have plans for at least the next two chapters, which only brings us partway through their second day of vacation :P
> 
> But I'm graduating in two days and my family is all in town so the speed with which I'll be able to write and post another chapter is tbd!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Because even when there's not a lot of time to actually write, there's time to write it in your head... and then transcribe it real fast! 
> 
> I lied about there being no angst but I think you'll like this one anyway ;)
> 
> Also I haven't had a chance to answer everyone's comments but please please please know that I get them all as emails and every single one warms my heart and you all are the absolute best and I love sharing this adventure with y'all!!!!!!!

After the (now lengthy) tab has been settled, the four of them spill out onto the darkened sand, clutching each other and laughing. They’re not blackout-gone drunk, but the lights of the resort’s main hotel swim a bit in front of them. 

Halfway back to the huts, Bobbi grabs Jemma’s arm. “Wait! The resort has this amazing party every week in the ballroom, basically a rave, really, like flashing lights and grinding and shit -- it’s so much fun, and it’s tonight, you wanna go?” 

Hunter’s already got his arm around Bobbi’s waist so his decision is clear. Jemma turns to Fitz. “How about it?” 

It sounds like everything he hates, so he answers honestly, “I’d really rather go back to the hut.” 

Disappointment flashes across her face and he thinks about taking it back but she’s already looking away, back to Bobbi. “Guess it’s just me then.” 

“Let’s go!” Bobbi cries, wildly boisterous, and she grabs Jemma’s hand. The three of them trip away across the sand, nearly falling several times. 

Fitz walks slowly back to the hut alone, all hint of intoxication suddenly gone, listening to their ecstatic voices until they fade from earshot. He falls onto the bed still fully clothed and throws an arm over his eyes, a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. 

He should have gone with her. Because now he’s just going to lay here, imagining all the gross men trying to grind up on her. He knows that Jemma is loyal, and specifically loyal to him, and he doesn’t worry about her cheating, but there’s a world of experiences and fascinating people out there and he’s nothing in comparison.

It’s not a new feeling -- it’s something he knows well from the Academy. Jemma is beautiful and charming in her own odd way and she likes parties and bars and concerts and other adventurous settings in which Fitz has never felt comfortable. He spent years at the Academy living on the constant seesaw between the rush of her presence and his own persistent inferiority, but he’s just forgotten what it’s like to feel this way. At the Academy he was constantly sharing her, constantly aware that she far outshone him, that the only reason she could ever be interested in him was for his brain, though even in that area she remains superior. On the Bus and in the Playground, at least, it was always just them. But given the choice, her curiosity and thirst for learning will always lead Jemma to choose the more exciting option, and that’s never Fitz. And as much as that makes his heart clench, he’d never want to hold her back. 

Truth be told, he’s been waiting for something like this to happen, something to burst their perfect little bubble of happiness. It always does. 

He groans and rolls over. The physical perks of alcohol have worn off and he feels his sunburn again. Everything has somehow gone to shit in the last few hours. How is he to spend the next five days with Jemma in paradise when his mind has already returned to the real world? 

He must have fallen asleep, because though it feels like just moments, when Jemma returns she is fully and completely plastered. She smacks the door against the outside of the hut as she enters, then turns to shush it, reminding it that it’s late and people are sleeping. He sits up against the headboard, watching her, framed against the porch light, as she totters across the room.

“You alright?” he asks, and she squeaks slightly, dropping her shoes. 

“Fiiiiiiiitz, you startled me,” she slurs, feeling her way around to his side of the bed. He catches her hand and she falls forward against his side, planting a messy kiss against his ear, which she probably thought was his mouth. “I miiiiiissed you, Fitz.” 

“Here, have some of this.” Fitz leans around her to grab his water bottle off the bedside table, turning the little lamp on as well. As he does so, Jemma grabs his shoulders and hoists herself up so she is straddling him. He groans slightly, pushing his hips into the bed so that he doesn’t rut up against her. He loves non-sexual romantic time with Jemma, but honestly, how they’ve managed to be in a tropical paradise without screwing once already -- it’s maddening. 

She takes the water from him and tries to drink. Most of the water makes it into her mouth but a lot of it spills down her front, shining just slightly where it runs over her cleavage. Fitz snaps his eyes back up to her face.

“Have a good time, did you?” he asks, trying not to sound bitter. 

“Fiiiiiitz, did I mention I missed you? And I missed Bobbi! And Hunter. Oh gooooddd, Fitz, I’ve missed them so much. But mostly, I missed _you_.” 

She surges forward and captures his mouth. She tastes like a strange mix of tequila and rum and lemons that threatens to send him over the edge immediately and now she’s nipping at his bottom lip while her fingers have found their way under the bottom of his shirt to settle on his ribs... His tongue has already found its way inside her mouth, spurred on by her pornographic little moans, when he remembers himself.

“Jemma--” he pants, pushing her back. She tries to fight him but he holds her away by her shoulders, which seem the only relatively safe territory at this point. “I can’t. We can’t. You’re drunk.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” she mumbles, tilting her head to rub her cheek tantalizingly over his hand. “You’re my boyfriend and I want you to f-f- _fuck_ me.” 

She stutters over the word, so unfamiliar in her mouth, but it still sends a fire straight down through his torso. 

“Unfortunately,” he chokes out, running his hands down the soft underside of her arms to settle on her hips, “that’s not how consent works.” 

She pouts at him, some of her alcohol-fueled glow seeming to go out. “Well, we can still do other things.” Her fingers slide down his cheeks, across his stubble -- it’s possibly the most arousing sensation he’s ever experienced and by this point in their relationship he’s sure she knew what she was doing the first time she did it in the lab -- and she leans in again to worry at his pulse point, much more sloppily than usual but somehow no less thoroughly.

He sighs, dropping his head back against the wall to give her better access. “This is as far as it’ll go, though, Jemma,” he warns her. “First sign of clothing coming off--” 

“Promise me,” she whispers, biting his earlobe and then kissing it quickly, “promise me we’ll check out that cove Hunter mentioned. Maybe sunrise tomorrow?” 

He shrugs noncommittally. He knows he should be positively ecstatic that his brilliant girlfriend is asking him to have semi-public sex on an immaculate beach at sunrise, but as much as his body has made a rapid turnaround in Jemma’s presence, his mind has been slower in catching up. 

She notices, even through the drunken haze, and she sits back, frowning at him. She cradles his face in her hands, tilting it from side to side as if inspecting. “Hey. Where are you?” 

“I’m here,” he sighs. 

“Maybe, but you’re not with me.” 

He thinks about lying. He’s got years of practice, of avoiding her eyes and telling her what she needs to hear to be able to go on with her day -- or night, as it were -- however much it pains him. He knows she’s got enough emotional baggage of her own and there’s certainly no justice in asking her to carry some of his as well. But then he thinks about how hard she is trying, how she’s attempting to be vocal about her feelings, how she’s pushing herself to be romantic because she wants him to feel her appreciation, how she had taken so many of the steps towards healing them when he’d thought their friendship, let alone any chance at a relationship, was shattered forever. She cannot fix this, but he knows that she would want to know and that if there’s any chance, however minuscule, of this lasting, he’ll have to start voicing these things as well. 

So he takes her hands from his face and stares at them intently. “I’ve just -- it’s just -- you’re perfect, Jemma.” She wiggles on his lap proudly, obviously concurring, and he feels the first sliver of sunlight piercing his gloomy state of mind. Of _course_ drunk Jemma is even more arrogant than sober Jemma. “You’re perfect. And I’m not--” 

“Don’t you dare!” she snaps before he can go any farther, her hands shooting out of his. He thinks for a second she will slap him, but she is gripping the back of her neck as she usually does when she’s afraid _she’s_ done something wrong. “Don’t you dare even start this again, Leopold Fitz--” 

“You can’t deny that we’re dramatically different in some ways,” he plows on -- now that he’s shot himself in the foot he might as well do the deed properly. “Like tonight -- you love parties, and I could see how upset you were when I wouldn’t go with you -- but as much as I can jump through a goddamn portal for you, ragers are a bit beyond me.” 

To her credit, despite her intoxication she doesn’t laugh or scoff, even though it sounds ridiculous to his own ears. She slides off his lap so that her legs still drape over him and grips his face firmly. 

“Fitz, first of all, you have been superior to all other men as long as I have known you. No, don’t laugh, I’m serious. Whatever measures you’re using to assess yourself, forget them. Use _my_ measures, because frankly those are the only ones that matter for us. And to me you are perfect in every way that counts. Well, maybe not perfect, but as close as can be expected.” 

She has never said it so plainly, and he can’t help the hopefulness that blooms within him. She’s not only fervent, she’s surprisingly logical. But she’s also not done. 

“And as for tonight -- so you’re an introvert. Or you have social anxiety. Or maybe both of those plus some other factors. That’s part of who you are and part of why I l--” 

The word stalls on her tongue as he looks at her wide-eyed. She shakes her head quickly. 

“I’m not going to say ... _that_ , not while I’m drunk, but you know what I mean. I know the biology of all the reasons you don’t like parties, and some of the psychology as well, and it’s nothing for you to be ashamed of or for me to like less about you. Plus, I spent the entire night worrying about you, thinking I should’ve come back with you and that _I_ had messed something up.” She’s still focusing a little too hard on a point just to the left of his eyebrow but her voice is increasingly steady. “Sometimes we’re going to want to do different things. Sometimes I’m going to want to do an autopsy and you’re going to want to vomit.” They both laugh, and he shifts his arms around her to pull her closer. “There’s no blanket decision we can make so that it’s easier when that happens, but let’s keep talking about it, yeah?” 

It’s so simple and sensible and he feels a fool but he knows that only she could bring him back from that dark place into which he’d descended. His insecurities aren’t vanquished, surely, but at least Jemma knows them and recognizes them. He truly does feel lighter with that knowledge. 

They fall asleep pressed tight against each other, and Fitz dreams that they are old, ancient really, waiting for the underground in London, and Jemma holds his hand, just to never lose him, just to keep him close, just to know he is there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um so that's just the end of day 1..... of 6.... :P Let's see how long we can keep this going, yeah?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hard M rating for this one. I was honestly planning to have them sleep through the sunrise and postpone sexytimes, but then raptorlindsay commented specifically saying how excited she was for cove sunrise sexy times, so blame/thank her for this chapter! ;) If only our appeals to AOS writers worked that easily.
> 
> Posted this super fast because I'm headed out the door so sorry for any errors!!!

“Fitz?”

“Ungh.”

“Fitz, wake up,” Jemma wheedles, resting her knee on the edge of the bed so she can lean over him.

“Nnnn. Don’t want to.”

“But we have plans, Fitz.”

“‘S too early.” He grabs her hand where it’s tracing his face and he pulls her back down onto the bed with him, holding her as tightly as he can considering he’s still half-asleep. “Let’s cancel them.”

“But they’re such nice plans.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be hungover?” he sighs as she kisses his neck and jaw gently.

“You made me drink about three gallons of water last night, remember?”

“Mmm. I’m smart.”

She chuckles against his collarbone. “You weren’t so happy about it when I got up every half hour to pee--”

“I just wanted to cuddle,” he grumbles.

“Well, we can keep cuddling now, or we can go have that date in the cove Hunter mentioned...”

He tenses beneath her, his body suddenly very aware. His hands wander down the curve of her bare back as he seems to realize for the first time that she is wearing only her bathing suit. She stifles a giggle, letting him work through it all.

“You -- you were serious?”

“Of course, Fitz, that’s nothing something I’d joke about. Sunrise is in twenty minutes, we’ll just make it if you get up now.”

He finally cracks an eye to look at her. “It’s still bloody dark outside, Jem.”

“That’s how sunrises work, Fitz. It’s dark, then it’s not.”

He groans and closes his eyes again.

“I ordered room service breakfast for when we get back.”

His face twitches but he doesn’t move.

“Ah well, if you’re sure....” she murmurs, pushing herself up off his chest so their pelvises are pressed together and her chest is nicely accented when he peeks a glance at her.

“For Christ’s sake, I’m coming,” he mutters, gripping her hips and swinging her off of him so he can sit up. She bounces happily on the edge of the bed as he roots around for his flip-flops. He’s still wearing his swim trunks from the day before, so he’s ready in just a moment, looking blearily at her for further instructions.

Jemma takes his hand and leads him outside. She’s exhausted as well, and more than a bit hungover, but she won’t let on. They seem to be the first people up, besides the resort staff, and the whole beach is still but for the gently rushing waves. The air seems especially fragrant and clear at this time, and Jemma feels her senses awakening as they walk barefoot through the soft sand, away from the resort, guided by the first tendrils of light daubing the dark sky.

By the time they reach the cove, Fitz has perked up a bit and walks next to her rather than dragging along behind her. Their hands swing between them, brushing the tie on the side of Jemma’s bikini bottoms, and she’s tempted to ask him to shuck off his T-shirt so they’re a bit more even in state of undress, but then they round a bend and she gasps, forgetting entirely.

The cove is formed by two steep, craggy rock formations, between which are tucked an almost untouched stretch of white sand and clear waters. The rainforest shields them on the island side, and the rising sun promises to emerge in the gap just between the two rock faces.

Jemma drops Fitz’s hand to settle on the sand, wrapping her arms around her knees and marveling at the way the undersides of the few wispy clouds are already tinged gold and pink. She feels Fitz settle beside her and looks over at him.

“How do we start, then?”

He grins and scratches behind his ear. “It’s a bit awkward, isn’t it?”

“Scheduling sex, you mean?” Jemma laughs, resting her cheek on her knee as she looks at him. “Yes, it certainly feels different.”

“Very you, though,” he teases fondly.

Just a few years ago a comment like that would have had her hounding him for an explanation of what that meant and whether it was more compliment or barbed jab. But as she looks at him, at his eyelashes almost glowing in the morning’s first light and the crust of sleep still tucked in the corners of his eyes and his hands splayed behind him in the sand, all she knows is how she loves this man. She’s known it for months and felt it for years but sometimes, still, the immensity and intensity of it overwhelms her.

Saying it now would just be a formality, but still, this isn’t the moment.

So she kisses him instead, both to show him what she cannot yet say and because that’s the only way she knows to get this started. And oh, does she want them to get started.

Fitz’s hands are still covered in sand when they find her back, adding a whole new sensation to the experience. She makes a noise against his mouth, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and he shifts closer to her, one hand sliding up into her hair. Jemma wraps both arms around his neck, tilting her head to give his searching tongue better access. She lets this continue until she can tell, from the urgency of his kisses, that he’s ready, and she slowly pulls away, his teeth lingering on her bottom lip and his fingers toying with the knot at the back of her bikini top.

“There is a significant logistical flaw to this, though,” Fitz breathes before she can urge him to untie it. “No matter what, someone isn’t going to be able to see the sunrise.”

“I’ve considered that, actually.”

By the time she’s told him what she considers to be their best two options, he’s visibly panting with the eagerness she, too, feels. This is entirely new to them. Sex on a tropical beach, yes, but even just morning sex, which had never been an option on the Playground, between the exhaustion from non-stop crises and their determination to keep their relationship low-profile. How their bodies will respond, what might be different from other times -- it’s terrifying and exciting.

“Second option,” Fitz says automatically. “Definitely the second option.”

“Really?” She looks at him with surprise and interest. “But you won’t--”

“Believe me, I will,” he chuckles.

“Well, then.” She stands and, before she can think it through further, slides her bathing suit bottoms down her legs and unties her top, letting it fall onto the sand.

Fitz gulps, gazing up at her, and she feels tingles of warmth in all sorts of funny places, pride and anticipation winning out over embarrassment. She nudges her bathing suit away, leaving the space between them clear.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” he asks in an awed voice, and she notices with surprise that he’s looking at her face, not any of the other tantalizing body parts available for his ogling.

“Do you really want to go there?” she replies wryly. “I’ve quite a list.”

“Not the time, then.” Seeming to remember himself, Fitz pulls his T-shirt off and flings it away, then looks back to her.

“Those too,” she reminds him, pointing to the bathing shorts he’s still wearing.

“I think I’d best keep these on,” he chokes out. “In case, you know...”

She can’t help laughing this time, not when he’s uncomfortable about the possibility of cumming on her when she’s standing stark naked in front of him, every curve and hair and possible imperfection highlighted by the rising sun.

“Suit yourself,” she grins.

He scoots back across the sand and sits with his legs outstretched. She feels slightly breathless now, like the air has gotten thicker, and there’s an electricity making the hair on her arms stand ever so slightly on end as she crosses the sand to him, their eyes locked, and sits between his legs, pressed right up against him.

And yes, she can feel everything.

“Are you, um--” Fitz clears his throat, his hands floating near her arms but touching nothing. “Are you sure you’re not uncomfortable with the sand on your, er--”

“I’m fine,” she says hurriedly, afraid he’ll reconsider. After a moment’s thought, she lifts her feet so that they are resting on the outside of his knees, opening her wider.

Fitz stifles a groan in her shoulder, and Jemma giggles.

“I can smell you already,” he whispers.

Jemma knows he doesn’t say things like that to drive her mad or take control but they do exactly that, and she whimpers and leans back against him. His hands find her hips, at last, his fingers warm even with the sun beginning to lick her bare skin.

He’ll stay there forever if she doesn’t help, so she arches her back slightly against him and slides a hand from his elbow down to his hand, which she lifts and guides over her belly until their fingertips just brush the hair between her legs.

“Think you can take it from here?” she whispers.

He makes some kind of garbled noise.

“I didn’t quite catch that, Fitz.”

“Yeah. Yeah, got it.”

She smiles and closes her eyes, resting her head back against his shoulder and bracing one hand on her knee, bringing the other up around to the back of his neck to pull his torso against hers.

He is still for so long that she is about to open her eyes and chide him when his fingers brush suddenly, firmly, against her, and she gasps. She hadn’t realized her skin would be so sensitive right away.

“You’ll miss the sunrise,” he murmurs, twisting his neck to press a kiss to her eyelid just as he makes a second pass.

This is what she can’t understand, truly. For all she knows, Fitz has spent the last ten years, and then some, in a lab. Most of it with her. He claims to have only had a few kisses before her -- and yet he’s only been touching her for less than a minute and he’s got a finger inside her and his thumb is running over her clit and he’s a damn expert and it’s just not fair.

“Bet I can make you come before the sun’s all the way up,” he chuckles against her ear.

She laughs, though it turns into a strangled hiccup halfway through as he pumps into her, the heel of his palm grazing her inner thigh. “And here I was thinking I’d try to hold off til then.”

“I’d say loser has to go jump in the ocean but I think we’re both winners here.”

Now he’s not only driving into her with one finger, he’s running two others up and down her lips around it and somehow also tickling her clit and _“Oh, Fitz!”_ She thinks wildly that someday she will record herself saying his name so breathily, on the edge of orgasm, and when he’s not around she’ll change his ringtone so that anytime she texts him he has to listen to that and get half-hard.

Her eyelids are fluttering beyond her control but she focuses on the golden orb, squeezing her muscles as tight as she can to resist the feelings until the sun passes above the horizon.

“I win!” she cries, but he pulls his hand out and away and she gasps.

“Alright, we’ve both seen the sunrise now,” Fitz pants, scrambling up from behind her so that she falls back against the sand. She starts to protest but he pulls a condom out of his shorts. She lets her head falls back and brings her own hand between her legs to satisfy her urge until he gets there -- the sight makes him actually groan and he drops the condom into the sand, his shorts halfway down his legs. Jemma isn’t sure she’s ever laughed while on the edge of orgasm before and the whole thing is ridiculous and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Fitz is already quite hard by the time he lands on top of her. Her hands brush against him as she stops touching herself but he pulls them away, meeting her eyes and waiting for her nod before sliding into her. They both grunt as he buries himself deep, then Jemma drags his head up to kiss him deeply.

It’s a strange lovemaking, actually -- not in a bad or unsatisfying way, at all, but they’re both desperate to kiss each other, more so than usual, and other details get lost. Fitz holds Jemma’s hands against the sand while she comes, then shudders above her as he follows.

They lay in the sand, their sweat drying in the already-intense heat of the morning sun, panting and glancing at each other and laughing every time they take in each other’s ruffled hair and wild eyes and bruised lips.

Jemma finally rolls over so that her arm brushes his. “I desperately want to return the favor, but you’re not looking quite ready yet and the room service should be there soon.”

Fitz’s stomach rumbles at that exact moment, and they both laugh. “Guess that settles it.” He tilts his head up to look down between his own legs. “Sorry, little man. We’ll get to you later.”

“I’m never going to unsee that,” Jemma sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, sexytimes writing is not my forte so I hope this worked okay... 
> 
> Many chapters ahead <3 Loving the feedback. This has been so much fun so far!!! 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast. Is pretty much all that happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My head is in so many different places because of the different 'verses and stages of relationship I am in for different fics, haha, so hopefully this one feels right for this one :)

“Good lord, Jemma, how much did you spend on this?” Fitz asks in dismay, surveying the rather daunting spread that had been dropped off while they were at the beach. 

 

“Too much and not enough,” she says with satisfaction. 

 

“Bit of a metaphor for our relationship, that,” he grins cheekily. 

 

She shoots him a look. “Before or after Bucharest?” 

 

He thinks for a moment, then says firmly, “Both.”

 

“I’m going to ask you to clarify that later, but for now, I’m going to bask in the afterglow of that quite excellent sunrise.” 

 

“Mm, the sunrise is what’s making you glow, is it?” he teases, coming up behind her where she’s struggling with the cork on a bottle of champagne and wrapping his arms around her waist. 

 

“Jealous of the sun now, Fitz?” she tsks. “This -- damned -- thing--” 

 

The cork pops suddenly, hitting the ceiling of the hut. Jemma shrieks and and tries to jump backward but Fitz is still holding her so she sort of just jumps in place. He lets go of her only so she can run and grab their glasses as the champagne starts overflowing. 

 

They take trays of food and their drinks out onto the front porch. Fitz sits with his feet up on the railing while Jemma scoots her chair next to his and drapes her legs over his lap. He strokes her ankle with one hand and her knee with the other while she works her way through a slice of French toast smothered in strawberries and chocolate. 

 

Eventually the smells that the gentle breeze keeps wafting his way become unbearable. “Hey, can I get some of that over here?” he asks, jiggling her ankle. 

 

“You’ll have to be more specific,” she says around a mouthful. “Some of this?” She gestures to her plate. “Or some of this?” She gestures towards her own chest. 

 

“You’re feeling particularly cocky this morning,” he growls, yanking her slightly closer. “Didn’t you say something about helping me out--” 

 

“Mmm, you want some breakfast?” Jemma murmurs, stroking his cheek. 

 

He leans into her palm. “I’m a bit peckish, yeah.” 

 

“Here--” Jemma twists in her seat to grab a bowl on the ground behind her. Fitz holds onto her calfs as she threatens to tip right over backwards. “Open your mouth.” 

 

“None of this ‘here comes the plane’ nonsense now--” 

 

“I’m practicing for our children.” 

 

Fitz chokes on a swallow of champagne. “Sorry? Jemma, do you have something to tell me?” 

 

She grins at him. “No, but I’m glad to see you’re not ready for kids either.” 

 

“That’s not what I -- I mean, I’ve hardly considered -- not that I haven’t  _ thought  _ about--” 

 

“Shut up before you propose,” she says fondly. “And open your mouth.” 

 

He does as he’s told, too confused to protest. And Jemma starts throwing Cheerios at him. 

 

“Seriously?” he cries as a third one hits his eye. “You’re not even  _ trying  _ to get it in my mouth--” 

 

“That’s what she said,” Jemma blurts, then erupts into giggles. “Oh dear,” she pants between chuckles, clutching her stomach. “I’d best hop to the loo before I embarrass us both.” 

 

“Let’s be honest, I’m the only one who’d be embarrassed in that situation,” Fitz calls after her, finally grabbing some food and setting about to do as much damage as he can before she returns. After all, it’s already paid for -- might as well enjoy it. 

 

When Jemma comes back, there are a group of young women in tiny bathing suits frolicking on the sand very close to their porch. Fitz honestly hasn’t noticed them, but when Jemma sees them she pauses and her eyes narrow. She very deliberately strips off the dress she’s been wearing over her bathing suit and pulls her chair back up to Fitz’s. When she sits, her feet tucked under her so that her knees lay across Fitz’s lap, she puts an arm around Fitz’s neck and takes a long sip of champagne. 

 

She’s draped all over him, rather possessively, and Fitz is  _ here for it _ as the kids say. 

 

He spears a piece of pineapple and chews on it contentedly, smiling at Jemma like he’s completely oblivious to what has just happened. 

 

“Oi, you two!” Hunter calls as he and Bobbi round the porch. “You’re up early.” 

 

“Been up since sunrise, actually,” Fitz says seriously. 

 

“Lots of fascinating wildlife on the beach at that hour,” Jemma agrees, shielding her eyes so she can look at their friends. 

 

“Riiiight,” Bobbi smiles knowingly. “I’ll take your word on that one.” 

 

“How did you know where we were staying?” Jemma asks, brow furrowing. 

 

“Bob brought you home last night,” Hunter reminds her. 

 

“Ahh.” Jemma grimaces. “I’m a bit fuzzy on some of the details from last night.” 

 

“Probably for the best,” Fitz murmurs to her, but Bobbi and Hunter overhear him and laugh. 

 

“Ain’t that the truth,” Hunter chuckles. 

 

“Anyway, we didn’t come here to give you a hard time,” Bobbi assures Jemma, leaning against the railing. “We have to wrap up some loose ends, as it were, before we ship out tomorrow, but you mentioned something about a hike -- we’d love to join if we’re still invited?” 

 

“Of course!” Jemma and Fitz say in unison. 

 

“Then maybe after--” Bobbi waggles her eyebrows suggestively. 

 

“Four-way!” Hunter exclaims.

 

“Stop it,” Bobbi chides him, smacking him in the chest as Fitz, yet again, chokes. (Jemma, he notes with great interest, is a bit slower to act alarmed.) “We talked a guy into letting us use his boat and were gonna take dinner out on the water then hang out under the stars for a while, maybe do some night swimming. We’d love for you guys to come, if you don’t have other plans.” 

 

“That sounds brilliant,” Jemma gushes. 

 

“Talked a guy into letting you use his boat?” Fitz repeats skeptically. 

 

“Persuaded,” Hunter amends. 

 

“Just say yes, Fitz,” Bobbi sighs. 

 

“I mean, Jemma’s going, you think I’m staying here?” Fitz says around a sausage. 

 

Bobbi and Hunter exchange a look of unbearable affection. “You are a wise man, Leopold Fitz,” Hunter stage-whispers. “Continue like this and your relationship might actually go somewhere.” 

 

Hunter and Bobbi say their goodbyes and plod off to whatever nefarious tasks they have before them for the morning. Jemma watches them go, her chin resting on Fitz’s shoulder. 

 

“I think it’s rather adorable that they think you follow my lead because I’m the alpha, not because you just like me that much,” she muses. 

 

“You are the alpha,” Fitz snorts. 

 

“Am not!” Jemma jerks back, looking affronted. 

 

“You saying you don’t  _ want  _ to be the alpha?”

 

“I -- I don’t know --” 

 

Fitz leans forward to kiss her nose. “But for the record, I do everything you do because I like you that much. Not because I’m terrified you’ll exile me from the wolf pack.” 

 

Jemma laughs and rests her head along Fitz’s shoulder so her hair tickles his neck. He puts his arm around her, rubbing his thumb up and down her arm, and looks out across the sand, at the waves breaking, at the little children running along the edge of the water flying kites and chasing crabs, at the first shimmers of heat over the sand. 

 

It is beautiful, and he will make it last as long as he can, but he also knows that it is only who he holds in his arms that makes it paradise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys aren't getting sick of this?? I have ideas-ish for another three chapters and then I might start hitting mental blocks... 
> 
> Snorkeling next chapter!! Actual snorkeling though, not the sexual kind :( (or :) ?? )
> 
> Find me on Tumblr! I'm grapehyasynth there as well.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SNORKELING! Sorry, the G-rated kind :P

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG TO UPDATE!! I'm juggling a bunch of other WIPs and drabble requests and whatnot but I promise promise promise this fic is always in my queue to be written!! Keep leaving feedback, it gives me so much joy :) :)

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Jemma asks again -- just to be sure, reaching out to take Fitz’s hand.

He looks out at the calm, impossibly clear ocean, squinting slightly against the sun. He nods.

They walk towards the water’s edge together, Fitz a hairsbreadth behind Jemma as if trusting her to lead. The sand is delectably hot beneath their feet, though she’s sure it’ll be unbearable come mid afternoon, and the sun feels so good on the bare skin of her back, legs, shoulders, and stomach -- which Fitz had dutifully helped her lotion -- that she wants to shimmy.

When the first wave laps against their toes, she glances at him anxiously, expecting a reaction.

He rolls his eyes. “I do take  _ baths  _ and things, Jemma -- I’m not going to scream just because my feet get wet.”

“Okay, okay!” she says, but it’s not as heated as it would be in any other circumstances.

Their snorkeling session isn’t for another half hour, but Jemma had thought it might be a good idea (once they’d properly digested their massive breakfast) to acclimate themselves to the water first.

Just in case.

They wade in up to their ankles, their calves, their knees, their thighs. Fitz still hasn’t let go of her hand, and the water brushes their pinkies as they halt with the gentle waves just hitting their waists.

“How’s this?”

“Jemma, please, I’m fine. It’s been two years.”

Jemma knows a thing or two about trauma herself and isn’t quite so willing to accept his assertions that he has no lingering reaction to the ocean, but he’s (allegedly) a grown man and she’ll not further invite his ire by pressing him on this point.

(She can always say  _ I told you so  _ later, after all.)

Soon the water is too deep for them to stand. There are fish everywhere, occasionally brushing against their ankles, and Jemma  _ so  _ desperately wants to just dive right under and swim among them, identify and categorize them by color and stripes and size and feeding pattern and breeding habits -- but her focus is on Fitz.

He finally lets her hand go as they start to tread water. He glances about a bit, as if expecting something to go wrong, but all his limbs are responding as they should and he’s still taking steady breaths of open, unlimited air.

He smiles at Jemma nervously. She propels herself over to him, testing his limits carefully as she wraps her arms around his neck. With the water’s buoyant aid, he’s able to support them both. They float together slightly farther out from shore, but the water is so calm that there’s almost no current and Jemma knows they’ll be able to swim back in at any time. The water out here is a little more opaque, a little less crystal-clear.

“This is nice,” she murmurs, leaning her forehead against his. She cards her fingers through his curls, as yet still dry. She’s not yet had an occasion to get his hair properly sandy, and she thinks she’d enjoy helping him clean it out.

He pants slightly with the effort of keeping them up but he’s grinning in earnest now, pretty damned pleased with himself. “See? I’m fine.”

She kisses him gently, lingeringly, then strokes his cheek with one hand. “You’re okay, then?”

“Mhm,” he nods, pressing a kiss to her nose as his hands are occupied.

“So...” she whispers, drawing out the vowel, “how do you feel about... dunking?”

“No!” he cries, flinging her away.

She falls back with a splash, laughing.

“I’d thank you to not try that anytime soon!” he says firmly, trying to regain some of his dignity. “I do have  _ limits _ \--”

It happens very quickly. One second he’s bobbing about, smiling, then he lets out a sharp cry and his head slips under.

Jemma’s heart stops.

“Jemma!” he gasps, head emerging for just a moment before he’s gone under again.

“If this is your idea of a joke I will  _ KILL YOU _ , Leopold Fitz!” she cries, throwing herself towards the spot where she last saw him. She takes a deep breath -- oh god,  _ don’t think about the last time you took a breath, one single solitary insufficient breath, and had to pull Fitz to the surface  _ but how can she think of anything else -- and prepares to dive.

But before she can, he’s bobbing to the surface -- apparently not of his own propulsion, as his arms and legs aren’t moving, though he seems perfectly fine, albeit a bit bewildered.

“What--” she gasps.

He rolls to the side and she sees there is a  _ dolphin _ , an actual living breathing squeaking  _ dolphin _ , who has pushed him to the surface.

“Oh my god,” Jemma breathes, then she starts to laugh, then to cry. “I don’t believe it.”

“I cut my foot on something -- a rock, or coral, or something --” Fitz explains as he swims towards her. The dolphin floats, content, a few strokes away. “And it was such a shock that I went under -- and then the next thing I know this guy is helping me out.”

Jemma wraps her arms around his waist, taking it as her turn to support him.

He kisses her wet hair and rubs a hand soothingly across her back. “So long as I’ve got my guardian angels nearby, I’ll always make it to the surface.”

He leans back to look at her properly and she cries harder at the absolutely peaceful expression on his face.

“That’s a, uh, a spinner dolphin,” she chokes out between sobs. She extends a hand towards the dolphin, and it glides towards her and nudges her hand like a cat. She laughs in amazement. “They jump out of the water and into the air and--”

“Spin, yeah,” he finishes for her. “A bloke was talking about them at the restaurant yesterday. This little guy should have a pod around somewhere--”

As if they’d been waiting for a cue, another six or seven dolphins surface farther away. Some of them begin swimming in broad circles, building up speed until they leap into the air and spiral a few times before splashing expertly back into the ocean.

“I almost forgot!” Fitz says suddenly, looking away from the performance to tug excitedly on Jemma’s hair. “When I was down there I saw a turtle! A real live turtle! It kind of looked at me as it swam past -- I wish you could have seen it, it was brilliant--”

He prattles on, and she’s listening but she’s also doing her best to stop crying because Fitz was just underwater and here he is talking about the sea life like it’s the most normal thing in the world. She doesn’t comment on it, because somehow it will take away from the innocence of the moment, but it feels like the most incredible victory.

They eventually swim lazily back to shore, the dolphins following them as far as they can without risking getting stuck on the sand. Fitz sits down heavily in the sand while Jemma jogs back to their hut and gets her first aid kit (and he had teased her for packing it,  _ honestly _ ). He’s only got a small cut on his foot, but she cleans it and bandages it carefully, only taking advantage of his ticklishness a minimal amount.

“Should we skip snorkeling, then?” she asks, shading her eyes and looking down the beach to where their group has started to gather.

“Why would we do that?” He blinks at her, testing his foot to make sure he can walk on it without pain.

“No reason,” she replies slightly breathlessly.

Once she’s stowed her supplies again, he leads her to their snorkeling group. Their instructor is loud and peppy and  _ incredibly  _ knowledgable about the local sea life -- Jemma nearly hijacks the entire session to talk to him about it -- and has them all out paddling on their own within ten minutes. Jemma suggests to Fitz that they stay in the very shallow waters, but he again brushes off that idea and powers ahead, his head under, his dorky little breathing tube and his bum the only things visible above the water.

Jemma chuckles and chases after him -- her own little sea creature. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Growing up I was obsessed with dolphins -- I've since forgotten most of the info but spinner dolphins were always my absolute faves and they ARE native to the waters around the Seychelles!! :) :) I have no idea if they ever help people to the surface but JUST GO WITH IT
> 
> Find me on Tumblr?? I'm grapehyasynth there as well.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiking shenanigans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it takes me forever to get through my cycle of fics to write this but i swear it's always on my list
> 
> love you all

“Jemma, I’ve not brought one thing with me that would work for a hike,” Fitz complains, tossing the contents of his suitcase across the room. “Why didn’t you help me pack?” 

“I offered, and you told me you were a big boy and could handle yourself,” Jemma reminds him. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, which is mussed from their well-deserved mid-day nap -- which _did_ involve mostly sleeping, with a touch of horizontal frolicking -- and lacing up her boots. 

“You didn’t mention a hike!” 

“I sent you the itinerary a week ahead of time and printed you another copy the day before we left,” she says patiently. 

“Well, I didn’t read it,” he mutters, crumpling a pair of shorts into a ball.

 “Obviously,” he hears her sigh. She straightens, annoyingly ready so far ahead of him. “Do you want to wear something of mine, Fitz?” 

“No!” he snaps, blushing. “That’s not something people do.” 

She raises an eyebrow at him. 

“...in public,” he adds. “Hunter and Bobbi don’t need to know about your weird fetishes.” 

“ _My_ weird--” Jemma snorts. 

“Just give me a sec,” he grunts and grabs the only remaining items in his bag.  


 

 

They meet Hunter and Bobbi at the foot of the trail. Bobbi and Hunter look Fitz up and down, comparing their own breathable pants and shirts with his cargo shorts and short-sleeved button-up. 

“Don’t even start,” he grumbles, pulling at the collar. It already itches in the humidity, even here at the edge of the rainforest. 

“Sure we shouldn’t get a professional guide to lead us into the woods?” Hunter asks nervously, glancing at the massive expanse of tangled trees behind them. “It could get dark in there -- there could be panthers, or venomous snakes--” 

“It’ll be fine,” Jemma reassures him, pulling out a pair of maps and handing one to Bobbi. “Bobbi’s done a fair bit of trail-blazing in her youth, as I understand it, and I’m an expert at reading maps.” 

“Oh good,” Hunter whispers to Fitz as they take up the rear. “So she’ll be able to locate the big blue ‘H’ for hospital when one of us falls off a cliff and breaks our leg.” 

They wind their way along a path squeezed on both sides by twisting vines and bent trees and overgrown bushes. The path itself is well-maintained but the park service has clearly made an effort to allow the forest to take its course. 

Fitz tries -- really, truly tries -- to stay irritable about the whole thing. Jemma’s obviously the more outdoorsy one of the two of them and probably grew up camping and hiking and doing all those things the wealthy do for fun. Bobbi’s no better. Fitz, meanwhile, burns easily and is probably allergic to all sorts of things in this forest and certainly doesn’t have the muscle tone to be taking these inclines. 

But after twenty minutes of swatting aside the giant leaves that keep tickling his face as he walks, he gives in. Maybe he just needed to shake off the funk from his nap. The sun filters down to them through several layers of foliage in a new color he’s never seen before. It’s surprisingly cool in the shade and once he’s got the rhythm of it, Fitz finds he rather likes hiking.  The women walking ahead are even clearing away any spiderwebs that may have been spun with the pure intention of catching a tiny, vulnerable Scotsman in their sticky trap. 

They’ve only been walking about half an hour when the sound of running water reaches them and Hunter darts ahead to lead the way into a clearing with a small waterfall. 

“Oh, wow, that’s beautiful,” Bobbi sighs, wiping her forehead on her sleeve. 

“Jemma, you didn’t tell me to bring my swim trunks,” Fitz whines, but when she shoots him an admonishing look he’s grinning teasingly. 

She smacks at his head with her map. “There was a mosquito,” she blatantly lies. 

“There should be a bigger waterfall towards the end of the trail if we did actually want to go swimming,” Bobbi notes, unfolding her map. “Though we’d have to go skinny-dipping.” She waggles her eyebrows at them. 

“Bob and I have been meaning to propose a four-way,” Hunter calls from where he’s hopping along rocks a few feet away from the shore. “This is her way of easing you into the idea.” 

“Hmm, that could get tricky seeing as Fitz and Hunter are both obviously bottoms, but...” Jemma muses, grinning at Bobbi. 

“Oi!” Hunter calls, wobbling on his perch, at the same time that Fitz grabs Jemma around the middle and swings her around so that she squeals. It’s the closest to punishment he’ll ever come with her. 

“Jemma, I love you, and you’re a hot piece o’ ass,” Bobbi chuckles, “but that would be like having sex with my sister.” 

Fitz sets Jemma back on her feet but remains standing with his arms around her middle and his chin on her shoulder as they all watch Hunter jump about like a little kid.

 “Ooh, Hunter, don’t move!” Jemma calls suddenly, breaking from Fitz’s grip. He regrets it, but he smiles as she darts towards their friend. She stops at the water’s edge, reaching out to grip his arm. “Do you see that little bird up there? It’s easy to miss him, he blends in with the shadows--” 

“The black one with the white stripe on the side?” Hunter whispers, as if his voice alone will scare the bird away. “Like a skunk with wings?” 

“That’s a Seychelles magpie-robin,” Jemma explains. “They’re endangered -- at one point there were believed to be only sixteen alive in the whole world--” 

“How you doing, Fitz?” Bobbi asks, sidling up to him as Jemma continues her excited monologue. 

“I’m keeping up,” he says a bit defensively. He may be horribly out of shape but the others don’t need to constantly remind him of that. 

“No, I meant...” Bobbi gestures to Jemma. “How are you _doing_?” 

“Oh.” He doesn’t answer automatically. At one point he would have, would have said something vague and largely untrue to get Bobbi to stop probing, but they’ve been through enough together. He looks over at Jemma, the way the sun glints against her hair and she’s edged into the water even though her boots will get wet and she’s pulled out her phone to take an unnecessary number of pictures. “Honestly, Bobbi? It’s brilliant. She’s brilliant. We’re brilliant. I--” He lets out a whooshing breath. “Sorry, this trip has been a bit...er...” 

“Magical? Surreal? Too good to be true?” 

“All of the above.” He laughs a bit bashfully, then looks up at her. “You’re not trying to hint that this is all a dream and you’re about to slap me awake, are you?” 

“If we’re dreaming, I’m sure as hell not gonna be the one to wake you,” Bobbi assures him. Her mouth quirks up on one side and she looks back over at Jemma and Hunter. “I’m proud of us, Fitz. We’re letting ourselves be happy.” 

He knows the look she’s giving Hunter. He catches it sometimes when people take pictures of him gazing at Jemma. “Harder than it sounds.” 

She smiles softly at him. “Someday we’ll meet up in the real world and have a proper double-date.” 

“As long as you don’t invite us back to your room after,” he warns. 

“Hmm, I’ll let you two think on it. I have a feeling Jemma’s the wild type.” She winks at him and he can’t decide whether to laugh or feel genuinely worried. 

They finally wrench Jemma away from the waterfall and its surrounding fauna and trudge the rest of the way up the the trail, Hunter leading them through some raucous renditions of fight songs and camp songs and dirty jokes and every other time-killer he can think of. 

The trail crests on a broad flat of dark granite, from which they can see the whole cove and resort and miles of ocean and forest beyond that. 

“Oh, look, Fitz!” Jemma exclaims, standing on tip-toe and shielding her eyes. “That’s where we--” 

“Snorkeled,” he interrupts her, because he’s followed her gaze to the place where they ... passionately watched the sunrise this morning. “Went snorkeling. In public, with loads of people. As you do.” 

“Riiiiight,” Hunter says, giving them both a look. “Thanks for that vital information.” 

“C’mon, picture time,” Bobbi orders, shepherding them into place with the panoramic view behind them. They squeeze together so that Bobbi can get them all in despite only being able to extend the phone the length of her arm. “1...2...--”

 At the last second, as arranged, Fitz and Hunter turn their heads and press kisses to their respective girlfriends’ cheeks. 

Bobbi and Jemma do _not_ squeal affectionately, thank you very much, but Jemma’s a bit too eager to see the picture and _demands_ that Bobbi send it to her at once. 

The way down is significantly better. They don’t go skinny-dipping, though Hunter takes his shirt off and splashes around in the pool beneath the waterfall and is wretchedly uncomfortable in his wet trousers the rest of the hike back. Jemma spots and photographs dozens of flowers endemic to the Seychelles and takes pictures of all of them, moaning that she wishes it were acceptable to pick them and take them away -- “Though of course I’d _never_ want to do that,” she rushes to assure them all, “not really.” 

Fitz considers breaking law and good biologist practice and picking some for her anyway. He doesn’t, because as much as she’d love it, she’d hate it too. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jemma strokes Fitz’s hair affectionately as they walk back to their hut after parting with Bobbi and Hunter so they can all shower and rest before meeting up for dinner on the “borrowed” yacht. 

“Jemma,” Fitz says seriously, “I hate to say this, but...” He releases a suffering sigh. “You were right. Though I might need your help applying aloe again tonight, and for the next few days.” He rubs gingerly at his nose and neck, where he can already feel sunburn. 

“Ooh, does this mean we’ll need to sleep all cuddled up again?” she asks a bit too eagerly, spinning to walk backwards. 

“As if we’d sleep any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblrrrrrrrrrrrrr


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW IT'S BEEN LIKE TWO WEEKS SINCE I UPDATED THIS so sorry to those of you who wait for updates!!!! i promise it's always on my working list. i have a whole bunch of chapters still planned :)

It’s a night Jemma can only describe as full, she thinks as she stands on the porch of their hut, toweling her hair dry. There’s a touch of humidity in the air but it’s not even that -- just something about the unobscured moon and the cacophony of bird calls from every direction and the dependable swish of the waves makes her want to close her eyes and breathe deeply and absorb the calm into her very skin.

She turns back to the room and shakes her head with a chuckle. Fitz had opted to shower first after the hike, claiming he was faster, though it’s now apparent he really wanted to seize the opportunity to nap (again). He’s sprawled spread-eagle across the entire bed, his mouth slightly open and a little drool escaping onto the pillow squished under his face -- he’s definitely taking that side of the bed tonight.

Jemma kneels on the bed next to him, just like that morning, and rubs a hand up and down his back. “Fiiiiitz...”

“Leave me alone,” he grumbles, shimmying a bit to try to get out of reach of her prodding fingers.

He never would’ve been cleared for active duty if they’d actually put him through the tests, she thinks. He’d’ve passed out after the warm-up.

Then again, he spent six months on a non-stop quest for her across the globe and the universe, so...

“We’re already late to meet Bobbi and Hunter,” she reminds him, pinching just below his ribs. He struggles and wriggles over onto his back, glaring at her.

“Don’t want to go,” he mumbles, eyes still closed.

This is such deja vu. She’s surprised their morning activities haven’t created a positive association between her waking him up and ... happy returns for both of them.

“They’re leaving tomorrow, remember? We don’t have much time left.”

He sighs but lets her pull him into a seated position, from which he scoots to the end of the bed and slips his flip-flops back on. Jemma’s made it to the door when he says quietly, “I’m sorry I’m such a drag, Jemma. You’re so excited about everything and I’m--”

“Fitz, stop,” she interrupts him firmly. “We’ve talked about this. We’re not always going to live at the same pace and that’s okay. Besides, I know you only  _ pretend _ to be a grump half the time.”

He smiles slightly and meets her on the porch, locking the door behind him. They walk hand-in-hand a half mile down the beach, where Bobbi and Hunter are waiting on a pier.

“Got a bit side-tracked, eh?” Hunter asks, grinning, as they approach.

“My fault,” Fitz admits sheepishly.

“Hmm, always thought Jemma was more the initiating type,” Bobbi notes, leading the way down towards the boat they’ve ‘commandeered’.

“It’s about 75-25, honestly,” Jemma muses, glancing at Fitz for confirmation.

He huffs. “I’m starting to be glad you two aren’t around normally! Jemma’s way too willing to share this kind of stuff with you.”

They all laugh.

Hunter tries to help Bobbi onto the yacht but she slaps his hand away and hoists herself up unassisted. Shrugging, he follows suit, leaving Fitz and Jemma -- significantly shorter -- to awkwardly push and pull each other up.

“Apparently when they borrowed this boat they forgot to borrow, oh, you know, ladders and little things like that,” Jemma pants as they finally collapse onto the deck.

“Gift horses’ mouths and whatnot,” Fitz replies distractedly, already up and running his hands over the railings and cords of the yacht. He’s obviously mentally constructing the components hidden below-deck and Jemma’s head instinctively tilts to one side as she follows his movements adoringly.

She’s pretty proud that the only thing he touches with as much reverence as a boat or tool or piece of tech is her.

Bobbi and Hunter have them out on the open water impressively quickly -- “You pick up some skills,” Bobbi shrugs nonchalantly -- and Hunter appears with a bottle of sparkling cider. 

“Bob’s quite strict about boating-under-the-influence,” he explains, handing out plastic cups and filling them.

“As she should be,” Jemma says sternly. Bobbi chuckles and rubs Jemma’s shoulder.

“I’d like to think the universe was looking out for us by having us all in the same place at the same time,” Hunter says dreamily, raising his glass as if for a toast.

Fitz lets out a hissing breath and Jemma teases, “Ooh, Hunter, the universe is a bit of a touchy subject for Fitz and me.”

“You can’t do anything right, can you?” Bobbi scolds, draping an arm over Hunter’s shoulders and leaning in to kiss his mouth, which is spluttering indignantly.

Bobbi tends to their course every now and then but they mostly lean back against the cushions lining the sides of the boat, gazing up at the stars. Fitz and Jemma long ago realized they had nearly nothing more to teach each other about the sky, but Bobbi and Hunter know almost none of the constellations so Fitz excitedly points out planets and stars and Jemma chimes in with Latin names and the historical origins thereof.

“Do you remember that night we spent sleeping under the stars in the Australian outback?” Bobbi asks Hunter dreamily.

“Not me, love,” he says curtly.

“Okay, that time was  _ definitely  _ you!” she insists. “You tried to set up a tent but you broke half the poles so we had to just sleep on the ground and you kept waking me up insisting you heard rattlesnakes--”

“Which don’t even live in Australia,” Jemma chimes in.

“Hang on,” Hunter says slowly, “I do remember that! You made me sleep a good twenty feet away so I’d have to seriously consider waking you up on the walk over.”

“Didn’t stop him,” Bobbi tells Fitz and Jemma ruefully.

Jemma watches the other couple, one of her hands on Fitz’s knee, before blurting out, “Do you have any regrets? About any of it?”

“Oh, a million,” Hunter snorts.

“Fortunately I don’t think either of us really hang on to those for too long,” Bobbi adds. “You two, on the other hand -- I think you’re hard-wired to over-analyze and over-apologize.”

“Which wouldn’t hurt once in a while,” Hunter notes pointedly, elbowing Bobbi’s side.

“Says the man who has never apologized in his  _ life! _ ” she shoots back, but there’s no bite to it. It seems that in this island paradise even  _ their  _ fights end quickly.

Hunter stands abruptly, stripping off his shirt. “Time for a swim, I’d say.”

“Oh-- we--” Fitz squeezes his eyes quickly shut as Hunter works off his shorts, leaving just a tiny Speedo, and Bobbi pulls her dress over her head as well. “We didn’t think -- we’re not wearing--”

“Then skinny dip!” Bobbi calls over her shoulder as she follows Hunter over the far edge of the boat with a splash.

Jemma knows the look she will find on Fitz’s face if she glances over at him -- half terror, half eager anticipation -- so she just stands and extends a hand to him, tugging him towards the water. “It’s such a beautiful night, Fitz,” she pleads. “Imagine swimming under the moon, those stars--”

“How’re we going to get back on the boat?” he asks nervously.

“There’s a ladder on this side!” Hunter calls, out of sight.

“That would have been helpful to know an hour ago,” Fitz mutters, rubbing a spot on his knee where a bruise is already forming from their struggle to board.

“Well?” Jemma finally turns to face him. She knows she’s more adventurous than him, but she also knows that he always ends up enjoying himself. She won’t push him, but if he wants to--

Not taking his eyes from her, Fitz slowly begins to unbutton his shirt.

Grinning, Jemma kicks off her shoes and shimmies out of her shorts and tank-top, waiting until Fitz is also in just his underwear. He hesitates, but then Jemma pushes down her knickers and unsnaps her bra and he’s quickly following her lead.

They turn to face the dark expanse of water, Jemma’s hand finding Fitz’s, their joined pinkies brushing Fitz’s bare leg.

“Count of three?” Jemma asks, somewhat nervous all of a sudden.

He just nods and lets her count. On three, they step up on the railing and launch themselves over the ocean.

It’s quite different from swimming during the day, when the water was clear and bright and everything was visible. Jemma feels a moment of panic as her head goes underwater and darkness is everywhere, but then she blinks and she sees Fitz’s pale skin, shining even in the dim water. The thought of his body glowing like the moon makes her laugh, then choke, and when she surfaces she’s spluttering up sea-water.

“Jemma?” Fitz says frantically, swimming to her and gripping her face to check she’s okay. “What happened?”

“You--” She starts laughing again as their ankles graze underwater. “I saw you when I was underwater and you were -- you were so pale, it was all I could see--”

“Hilarious,” Fitz mutters, releasing her and floating away, treading water.

Jemma dips under to smooth her hair back, then paddles her way over to him. Their bodies slide in the most tantalizing way across each other as she wraps her arms around his neck. “I’m sure I’m just as pale, Fitz. No amount of tropical sun can change that.”

He supports them both as they kiss slowly, their lips salty in a new way. Jemma wants to twine her legs in his and maybe push her luck on what’s about to happen but the safety of that is questionable, so she contents herself with running her hands over his wet shoulders.

“New goal,” she announces, pushing back slightly so he doesn’t have to carry her weight, light as she may seem in the water. “Let’s retire and buy an infinity pool in some remote area so we can skinny-dip naked under the sun or moon or rainbows or whatever anytime we want.”

“It gets a bit chilly in Scotland in the winter,” Fitz informs her.

A sudden surge of warmth fills Jemma’s stomach and lungs as she looks at him. “You still like that idea? Us -- in Perthshire?”

“Where else would I want to go?” he asks, confused.

She darts in for another quick kiss, splashing him in the process, then pulls back. “So one house in Perthshire with a hot tub and a summer house somewhere else with an infinity pool.”

“Ah yes, I’ve forgotten S.H.I.E.L.D. gave us both 1000% raises so we can afford all that.”

“No one said we have to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. forever.” She shrugs slightly, avoiding his eyes. “Besides, I’m sure Bobbi and Hunter could give us a generous loan at this point.”

He’s about to answer but he glances down and flushes slightly. “Can you -- erm -- can you float a little lower? I have trouble concentrating when your -- your--”

She looks down at her own chest and laughs. “So be distracted! Enjoy the view! There’s no one to stop you!”

“Okay, just-- no serious conversations then, okay? Because it’s a really unfair advantage and I’ll probably agree to everything you say.”

Jemma coos and strokes his cheek, then sighs innocently and stretches out to float on her back, her whole naked body shining with ocean water and moonlight. Fitz groans.

“Stop it,” he begs, splashing water at her. “I don’t look nearly as majestic doing that and it’s just patently cruel--”

“I’m not going to stop unless you come over here and make me,” Jemma says lazily.

He lunges across the water like some awkwardly breaching whale and lands around her middle, dragging them both under for a beat. They kiss there, below the surface, eyes closed, hair floating around them, before Fitz wraps his arms around her waist and kicks them both back up.

He rests his forehead against hers as they catch their breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” he whispers, voice breaking with vulnerability.

Jemma thinks again that she needs to tell him she loves him. Now, while there is no imminent threat to their lives, while they have only each other. But it feels a little strange to do it naked, like her emotional response to him is getting muddled with her physical one -- as if they’re separable at all, normally -- and so she waits. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love your love! :) :) 
> 
> I know NOTHING about yachts or boats in general -- i've been on one private boat like once when I was maybe 10 so this is all BS. Why I kept it general :P
> 
> Find me on Tumblr!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally nothing happens in this chapter, as with this whole fic, but I wanted to give Huntingbird a proper sendoff <3

“You’re  _ positive  _ you’ve got everything?” Jemma asks Bobbi again, anxiously eyeing her single backpack and small duffle. “There’s not anything more you might need?”

“We’re fine, Jemma,” Bobbi chuckles. “Part of living on the lam is learning to make do with less. We don’t all have cushy agency protection and salaries anymore--”

“Says the woman regularly absconding with wealthy men’s wristwatches!” Hunter calls from the sand, where he’s waiting with Fitz.

“Point is, we make do. What we don’t have, we buy, or we borrow.” Bobbi shrugs. “I don’t think either of us really mind.”

“I hate the idea of you all alone out there,” Jemma frets. She’s tucking her hands around the back of her neck, and if Fitz were standing any closer he would pull her arms down and hold his hands reassuringly in his own.

“We’re never really alone,” Bobbi says with a smile in Hunter’s direction.

Hunter takes Fitz’s elbow and turns him away from the women, squinting against with the sun. “You take care of each other, okay, mate? You guys are the good ones, I’d hate for -- well, you deserve happiness more than the Dalai Lama.”

“You’re definitely going to hell now,” Fitz chuckles.

“Worth it.”

Fitz blinks, thrown off by Hunter’s fierce friendship. His loyalty, his doggedness, his rash dedication to Bobbi and the team -- he’s known those, benefited from those, valued those deeply.

But this is something else, something intensely personal, a self-sacrificing commitment to their bond.

Something burns in his throat as he replies hoarsely, “We’ll try our best.”

Hunter claps him on the shoulder and avoids his eyes as Bobbi and Jemma approach.

Bobbi glances between the two of them, both surreptitiously scrubbing at their cheeks, and laughs. “Men.”

Hunter grumbles something at her but turns to envelop Jemma in a bear hug, rocking her side to side and tugging on her ponytail slightly. Fitz has met Jemma’s actual brothers and know the connection he is witnessing now is ten times as significant in her life.

Bobbi reaches out and adjusts the collar on Fitz’s Hawaiian shirt, looking a little teary-eyed herself. “Hey, Fitz, promise me something?”

“Hunter already told me to take care--”

“Yeah, but more than that.” She glances over to where Jemma is now scribbling down a list of her favorite restaurants in Boston, where Hunter and Bobbi are headed in a few weeks, and continues softly, “When you two get hitched, make sure to let us know, okay? Whether it’s next week or in fifty years--”

“Who says we’re the marrying type?”

“Please,” Bobbi scoffs. “Like you haven’t been mentally designing the engagement rings since the first time you kissed Jemma in the lab.”

“I’ve not--  _ hang on _ , how do you know about that?!”

“You know Doug?”

“Yeah,” Fitz replies slowly. “Great guy.”

“Also happens to be your biggest fan -- yours and Jemma’s. He stumbled across the security footage and he showed Mack and Mack showed Daisy and one thing led to another--”

“Bloody hell,” Fitz groans, covering his eyes with one hand. “Did  _ everyone  _ watch it?”

“May and Coulson claimed they were above that but you just  _ know  _ there’s a private copy in his office that they pull out and watch with popcorn,” Bobbi chuckles gleefully.

“What have you done to make Fitz look so devastated?” Jemma scolds as she approaches and loops her arm around Fitz’s waist.

“Just disillusioned him a bit about his skills as a spy. Don’t worry, it’ll make him stronger.”

“You’ll be careful,” Jemma says sternly as Hunter shoulders his backpack and steps up beside Bobbi.

“Hey!” Fitz protests, looking around at his girlfriend. “I thought that was  _ our  _ thing.”

“It still is, calm down. But I feel this is a ... special occasion.”

“Remember what I said, Fitz,” Bobbi says significantly, raising her eyebrows. “I’m serious about that. If you forget, we will hunt you down and make you watch tapes of our first wedding.”

“Got it,” Fitz laughs. “No forgetting.”

“And I promise to call with a burner cell once a month, mum,” Hunter intones as if Jemma has made him practice.

“You better. Oh--” Jemma flies forward, grabbing Bobbi and Hunter simultaneously around their necks and pulling them into a hug. “I love you both.”

_ Sure, it’s easy for her to say it to them _ , Fitz thinks with a shake of his head. He knows that it’s different, that the leap of emotion they’re trying to encompass with those words is quite different when spoken between two people with as much baggage and entanglement as he and Jemma, but he can’t help be a bit jealous.

“We’ll see you soon,” Bobbi says firmly as Jemma pops back to Fitz’s side and leans against him once more. “Tell everyone we say hey, yeah?”

Hunter shakes Fitz’s hand once more, and then they turn and walk towards the road where they’ll pick up a cab.

Fitz and Jemma watch them go, Jemma’s head tucked under his chin.

When their friends are almost out of view and earshot, Jemma stands on tiptoe and presses her fingers more firmly against Fitz’s hip to help keep her balance. “Bobbi!” she calls. “Aren’t you going to say the thing?”

Hunter and Bobbi both turn to look back, grinning. “Don’t die out there!” they holler.

Fitz laughs, wrapping both arms tightly around Jemma. It has not been long enough, their last couple of days with their friends, but if his relationship with Jemma has taught him anything, it is that every moment of love and peace is a gift.

They stand on the beach for some time longer, swaying in each other’s arms, not needing to say anything. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblrrrrrrrrrrrr


	12. Chapter 12

“Whoever decided ‘it’s like riding a bike’ should mean something is easy was full of it,” Fitz calls nervously as he wobbles on the third pass around the bike rental parking lot.

Jemma laughs as she swoops by, pedaling in smooth circles and figure-eights around him. She knows she’s showing off, but maybe it’ll prod Fitz to try a little harder. (That tactic works in all other areas of their relationship. And she means  _ all  _ other areas.)

“I presume whoever concocted that saying didn’t wreck his first bicycle trying to make it fly,” she teases.

“ _ E.T _ . was a very compelling film, alright?”

He looks up in time to see her putting her hair into a ponytail without losing momentum and his jaw drops; he nearly collides into a fence and only barely averts catastrophe by bailing out onto the grass. “That’s not fair, Jemma!”

“What?” she asks innocently, dismounting elegantly next to him and helping him up.

“That!” he exclaims, waving a hand up and down in front of her. “If you’re going to make me look like a toddler on a tricycle, you need to stop distracting me with your hotness.”

“You think it’s hot when I put my hair up while biking?” she chuckles. “After all the ways you’ve seen me naked, it’s  _ that  _ that--”

“We’re not biking naked, before you even suggest it!” he snaps.

“If you’d rather, you could just ride on my handlebars,” she suggests. 

This gives him pause, and he’s obviously seriously considering it -- there’s something about the idea of biking along the seaside with the man she loves tucked up on the front of her bike that makes Jemma want to float with the absolute carefreeness of it -- but he frowns at the light-frame rentals and shakes his head.

“I’m not sure I trust it to hold us both. And it looks uncomfortable, for my -- you know.” He gestures vaguely towards his swimsuit bottoms. “Just give me a few more minutes to practice and we can head off.”

Jemma hops up on the top bar of the fence and watches him set out again, slowly at first but with a cute scrunch of determination. Coupled with the way the turquoise helmet smushes his front curl down across his forehead, it’s almost unbearably adorable. (She’s been taking secret pictures of him for the past hour.)

She’d been pleasantly surprised that he hadn’t rejected the idea of biking outright, but he must’ve noticed her eagerness for the wide handlebars and the cute little baskets and the pastel-colored bikes because he acquiesced with hardly a grimace and now he’s set upon mastering it. By the end of the day he’ll probably be jumping off ramps and scaring her half to death trying to prove what a talented cyclist he is.

When he feels comfortable enough to set out, they take to the bike path that runs parallel to the island’s main road and the beach. Jemma lets Fitz lead so that he can set the pace, though he’s doing much better now -- hardly a wobble.

Once she’s stopped enjoying the flex of his calf muscles and the jut of his vertebrae, she looks out at the clear ocean and revels in the moment. The breeze of their movement cuts through the slight humidity and and Jemma rolls her shoulders backward. The sun is sinking into every inch of her body -- Fitz has even stopped complaining about her cold hands at night -- and she hopes it’ll continue to warm her inside long after they’ve returned to the dim Playground.

The path wraps around a few forested hills and but for a car every ten minutes or so, they have it all to themselves.

Jemma pulls level with Fitz and glances over at him. There’s a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead but he grins shyly at her.

“This is fun.”

“ _ What _ ? Leopold Fitz admitting to  _ fun _ ? And not just any fun, but  _ physical activity _ ?”

“Alright, you--” He pretends to veer towards her and she drops back, laughing.

There’s a little town several miles along the shoreline and they pull off the path into the quaint streets. It’s still geared towards tourists, as most of the coastal towns are, but it’s less bustling and oppressive than the main thoroughfare of their resort town.

They lock their bikes up and stroll down the sidewalk, swinging their joined hands between them.

“Do you think it’s too early for ice cream?” he asks her eagerly, nodding towards a shop.

“Hmm.” He’s gazing at her like she holds his life in her hands so she drags out the moment before chuckling, “I think when you’re on vacation it’s  _ never  _ the wrong time for ice cream.”

He pulls her towards him and wraps himself around her from behind, shuffling them together towards the shop. “You know,” he murmurs, his chin on her shoulder, “when they heard I had a girlfriend, they said, ‘There goes all the enjoyment in your life. The old ball and chain.’ But I’m finding it to be a rather rewarding experience.”

“Ooh, do elaborate,” she breathes, but there’s no line and the woman behind the counter is looking at them expectantly. 

“I’ll have -- ooh, the pistachio looks good, please, three scoops in a cone.” Fitz extracts himself from around Jemma to root for his wallet.

“Triple dark fudge, also three scoops, also a cone,” Jemma adds.

“That’s my favorite flavor,” Fitz says dazedly as the woman hands them their orders and change.

“I know,” Jemma smiles. “I thought we might share.” She takes a messy lick of her ice cream.

“Er, Jemma, you’ve got some--” Fitz gestures towards her mouth.

“Yes, Fitz?”

“Guess I’d best help you with that.” He leans forward and she closes her eyes as he runs his warm tongue impossibly slowly over her upper lip, finishing with a chaste kiss on her nose. “All clean.”

“Really?” Jemma frowns in disappointment, then shoves her mouth into the chocolate. “Whoops.”

Fitz grins and steps closer, snugging her to him with a hand on her waist. “You’re trying to get us arrested for indecent behavior, aren’t you, Doctor Simmons?” But he nonetheless gallantly helps her clean herself up.

They get a bit lost in the snogging until Jemma feels Fitz’s cone dripping onto her sandals. She pulls back regretfully and sighs, “Eat first, kiss later?”

“Dirty,” Fitz chortles.

Jemma cackles and bats his chest with her free hand. “You’re getting the hang of it, Fitz!”

“You’ve corrupted me,” he mutters around a mouthful of pistachio, but he doesn’t sound too upset about it.

And as it turns out, pistachio and chocolate complement each other rather well. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg hi guys i'm back  
> lol  
> disclaimer: i know nothing about the seychelles and for this chapter did no research so this chapter could kind of take place in any place around the world but w/e

“Fitz, I’ve got a rather wicked idea.”

Fitz cocks his eyebrow and looks down at Jemma where she’s hanging on his arm. Indeed, she’s got that rather devilish, barely-restrained glee that accompanies her best -- or worst? -- plans. 

“I’m trembling already,” he says drily.

“Not  _ that  _ kind of idea,” she tuts, swaying into him as they walk so that they both stumble a bit. “ _ Honestly _ .”

“I didn’t mean trembling like  _ that _ ,” he shoots back, pretending to be scandalized. They’re in the middle of a crowded street and anyone could overhear but maybe she’s truly starting to rub off on him because unless she starts explicitly describing his anatomy, he’s fairly unconcerned. “I meant trembling in  _ fear _ . Because we both know how your ideas work out.”

“Alright, it’s not  _ that _ wicked,” she sighs, and the way she turns her head away and frowns at the little shops he knows she’s prepared to sulk until he gives in.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He reaches across his body with the hand she hasn’t trapped and tickles her side.

She squeaks indignantly but doesn’t even let go of him as she hops slightly away. “You’ll not get the chance if you keep terrorizing me.”

“Not my fault I can’t keep my hands of you.”

“That’s fair,” she smirks, and she drifts back towards him.

“The idea?”

“Right. So, have you ever been to an open house?”

Fitz swats at a fly that’s tickling the back of his neck -- somehow, not as pleasant as when Jemma does it -- and scrunches up one side of his face. “Like, departmental open houses when we entered the Academy and they were trying to woo us?”

“No, an open  _ house _ , with a realtor and people looking to make a down payment and--”

“Jemma Simmons,” Fitz breathes, leaning away to look at her. “Is this your way of asking me to move in with you?”

She snorts. “I thought that was already behind us.”

“Hang on, no, no, it’s not,” Fitz says quickly, pulling her to a stop in front of a pizzeria. “We haven’t even discussed it.”

“Why  _ wouldn’t _ we move in together?” Jemma demands, brow furrowed like he’s suggested something completely ridiculous. “We’ve lived together before, we’re living together now--”

“But it’s  _ different _ back there.” Fitz thinks maybe  _ this  _ is the crux of their relationship -- assumptions based on things unsaid. Though this one, for once, works in his favor. “I wasn’t sure you’d--”

“You darling man,” Jemma sighs, and she pulls him to her by the button flap of his shirt. “I cannot  _ wait  _ to move in with you.”

He grins into the little kiss she gives him, her simple statement inducing impossible giddiness when he thinks about how impossible it sounds, after all the impossible things they’ve endured.

“But that’s not what you had in mind with the open house,” he verifies as they begin walking again, though this time he has his arm around her shoulders, pulling her snug to him.

“Hardly. I thought, there’s a fair bit of property for sale on the island, aimed specifically at tourists and expats... Why don’t we stroll through some open houses and pose as a married couple looking for a vacation home?”

“Why would we do that?” To Fitz it sounds an awful lot like undercover work, and that’s never been his cup of tea.

“They often have free cookies and--”

“I’m in.” 

  
  
  
  


Jemma’s right -- the next street over is very touristy and posh and littered with  _ for sale _ ,  _ for rent,  _ and  _ for lease _ signs. They’re headed towards the biggest one, which has balloons outside and a large “open house” banner, when Jemma grabs Fitz’s arm.

“I haven’t got a ring!” she hisses. “If we’re supposed to be married--”

“Is this your attempt to get me to propose?” he chides, crossing his arms.

“Leopold Fitz--”

“Relax, don’t work yourself into a tizzy,” he chuckles. “Just hold my hand and don’t let go.”

She looks at him with glassy eyes and he knows that for them, that statement holds too much meaning. So he kisses her forehead and leads her in.

It’s a little beach villa and, Fitz has to admit, in another life he would like nothing more than to settle here with Jemma and live off of the money S.H.I.E.L.D. owes them for their respective workplace injuries.

But he’s fairly sure they’ve got a cottage in Perthshire in the future, so he’s quite content to just pretend.

“Hello, loves, how are you?” a squat older woman greets them, her smile so wide that her cheeks greet her temples. “My, you’re a wonderful couple -- newlyweds?”

“Yes!” Jemma chirps before Fitz can fumble an answer. “On our honeymoon. Our coworker actually grew up on this island and she’s been encouraging us for  _ years _ to consider moving here. Now that we’re hitched--” She jostles Fitz’s arm and scrunches her nose at him. “--We’re finally able to move forward with the notion!”

“Oh, you will  _ love it  _ here, I can assure you,” the woman chortles, waving for them to follow her. “Did you see the town on your way in? Super quaint, so close to the ocean, everything you need -- there are some adjustments in climate and food and language and whatnot but you get used to it and everyone’s just  _ so  _ friendly--”

They pass an information table where she’s laid out leaflets and business cards and --  _ jackpot  _ \-- a plate of cookies, and Fitz snags a handful and drops them into his pocket. Jemma squeezes his hand in congratulations.

“Now look at this view, would you?” The woman sighs and gazes, enamored, at the admittedly quite incredible seascape that unfolds off the villa’s balcony. “Imagine waking up to something that beautiful every day.”

“I already do,” Fitz teases Jemma in a stage-whisper.

Jemma rolls her eyes but paints on simpering affection for the realtor when she turns.

“Oh, that’s just --” The realtor is near to swooning. “I can tell you’re newlyweds, you know? You just have that --” She gestures towards them as if she can see their auras. “That glow, that thing, you know? Indescribable, but you  _ feel  _ it.”

“I  _ told  _ you things felt different, honey munchkin,” Jemma exclaims, prodding Fitz in the shoulder. “ _ You  _ said it was the seafood.”

“It could be both!”

“It could be, it could be,” the realtor agrees sagely. “Listen, I see some more folks just came in, I’m going to go give them the little tour but you dears look around and come find me if you have any questions. And help yourselves to some cookies!” she calls over her shoulder as she bustles away.

“Oh, we will!” Fitz assures her. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Jemma presses her face against his arm to stifle her laughter as they walk to the edge of the balcony.

“I could get used to this,” Jemma murmurs, pushing back her hair as the light sea wind buffets it across her face. “Warm weather, always being carefree, spending our days roaming the islands...”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Fitz kisses the crown of her head, letting his lips linger.

They’re silent for a moment, and Fitz feels they must look like the quintessential tourist couple captured on every postcard: arms around each other, faces sun-kissed and relaxed, gazing out to where the sky blends with the ocean.

“Maybe a vacation house,” Jemma whispers after a while. She rests her chin on his chest to look up at him, and it would be so easy to kiss her. It should always be that easy to kiss her. “When we’re nice and grey and need a reinvigorating sense of adventure. But I’ve still got designs on Scotland.”

He does kiss her, then, because on top of being the most brilliant, brave, irreverent, ridiculous, exasperating, beautiful, complicated woman, she wants to settle in his homeland.

The realtor is right: it’s not something one can describe. But Fitz plans to try. 

  
  
  



	14. Chapter 14

Not long after they’ve returned to their resort town, handed in their rental bikes, and started wandering back to their beach, little pricks of rain begin to fall on their heads.

“Oh, bother,” Fitz mutters, trying to yank the collar of his shirt up over his head, but Jemma just laughs and grabs his hand.

“Come on, there’s somewhere I wanted to stop anyway.”

They run the rest of the way, flip-flops slapping on wet pavement and grass until Jemma tugs him to a halt in front of one of the kitschy gift stores.

“Seriously?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow at her. 

She knows all his expressions, and this one is doubtful and reluctant, but his hair is collecting rain drops like stars and when did their lives become a romance film?

“We’re not going home empty-handed,” she chuckles, tugging open the door to a gentle jingle. Fitz sighs but traipses inside.

The place is blasting air conditioning, something they’ve not experienced in their few days in the Seychelles thus far, and Jemma shivers a bit at the contrast and at the bite of the chill at her wet skin. Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she heads directly towards her intended target, letting Fitz trail her.

“Seriously?” he repeats as she crouches next to the display of magnets.

“Do you have a better idea?” she demands. “We know for certain that all of our friends have refrigerators -- Coulson even has those filing cabinets. Lord knows why, everything’s electronic these days,” she adds in a mutter, comparing two of the magnets. “But we could start a collection! Any time we go somewhere new, we could pick up a magnet. A little ‘we were thinking of you.’”

“More like ‘we forgot to get you anything meaningful so here’s some crap plastic, sorry,’” Fitz grumbles, but he gets down beside her on the linoleum and works his way through the assortment.

“What’s gotten into you anyway?” Jemma asks, not unkindly. “I thought we were having fun.”

“We  _ are _ ,” Fitz assures her. “This one for Mack?”

The magnet he proffers has a sweeping view of jungle and ocean, much like the one they’d shared with Bobbi and Hunter, and it reminds Jemma of Mack’s love for solitude. “Definitely.” She adds it to the little pile she’s created.

“It’s just...” Fitz continues, sitting back on his heels. He glances out at the window, where grey rain continues to pelt down. “The rain, our plans--”

“We’ll make new plans.” Even to her own ears, this sounds wildly un-Jemma, but it thrills her as much as it terrifies her. “You already know I don’t mind spending the whole day in the hut with you, so if that’s what ends up happening--” 

“Yeah, that’d be lovely, I know. But I -- ahh,” he sighs, and he drags his hands over his face in obvious distress. “I had something planned, alright? A surprise. And it might be okay but I don’t know if the rain’s going to mess it up.”

Jemma stops what she’s doing to look at him, trying to fight an eager grin. “A surprise? For me?”

“No, for my Czech mistress whom I’ve flown in to meet us here,” Fitz deadpans. “Yes, you.”

“Sex on the beach in the rain will  _ still  _ be enjoyable,” Jemma teases. 

“It would not! It would be  _ messy _ .” Fitz scrunches up his nose, obviously picturing it. “Sand was bad enough.  _ Not  _ that I’m against a repeat performance,” he adds quickly. “But that wasn’t the surprise. And don’t even try to guess!” he warns her as she taps her finger to her lips in contemplation.

“Alright, alright,” she chuckles. “I’ll wait and be surprised. And I’m sure whatever variation it takes will sweep me off my feet.”

She swoops over to kiss him before she stands with her little collection of magnets, one for each of the team members and a few extras for friends and family outside of S.H.I.E.L.D.

When they get back to their hut, it is still raining -- if anything, it has picked up. Jemma finds it immeasurably soothing, the way the drops ghost over the surface of the ocean and drum against the roofs of all the buildings, and she’s tempted to suggest they do something completely out of character and dance out in the storm but she’s already tested Fitz’s sense of adventure enough for the day.

She returns from tucking the magnets into their luggage to find Fitz at the window, kneading his bad hand with his other thumb and forefinger. She slides up behind him and tucks her chin on his shoulder.

“Come away from there,” she murmurs. “I’ll not have you worrying about anything. We’re on holiday, remember?”

“And I’m worrying about our holiday being perfect,” he replies without turning.

“Must be some surprise, to have you all in a knot.” She kisses the edge of his hairline at the top of his neck, trails down to the muscles just emerging from his collar, then traces back up and gently bites his ear. That last one never fails to make him shiver with pleasure, and she smiles against his warm skin as he does so. “Come kiss me or I’ll keep trying to guess.”

“You wouldn’t,” he says in mock indignation, facing her. He leans in as if to give her what she’s demanded, but then at the last second he tickles her, driving her backwards towards the bed. “You wouldn’t torment me like that.”

“I will!” Jemma insists, but she’s squirming in quite an undignified manner and she doubts her claims hold any weight.

They collapse back onto the mattress and Fitz only relents when Jemma’s knee comes very near to hitting parts of his body he seems to like very much, so he stops tickling her to hold her leg down where it won’t do any harm.

Jemma tucks one arm under her head and grins slyly at him, knowing he will nearly instantaneously be putty under the influence of her wide eyes.

“Is it... a pony?”

Fitz groans and rolls onto his back. “Jemma,  _ stop _ .”

“It is a monkey? Fitz, if it’s a monkey and you’re planning to give it to me as a gift and then enjoy it all to yourself--”

“It’s not a monkey,” he says firmly. “I promise.”

“Is it...”

“Okay,” Fitz sighs, and he clambers over her and kisses her to shut her up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got one more chapter planned and then might need to start taking requests/suggestions! XD


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII  
> I MISS YOU ALL SO MUCH  
> Full disclosure I wrote this when I was crying miserably from homesickness but I think it's not depressing... I hope. But it's kinda feelsy and less fluffy??? Anyway  
> Have a couple smutty ficlets brainstormed and gonna try to update Mansfield Park at some point. My internet doesn't allow for Tumblr so that's why you haven't seen me there :( :( :( Also haven't been able to watch the eps. DX DX DX AND I don't have fast google so idk how to spell Stephen Hawking (???) so apologies for that. And free time also not great for writing. And my mental state is only getting to a place where I can write. BUT it's happening!! If you don't have my contact info and want it, talk to Casey or Elaine??

“Jemma, _please_.”

He’s trying, truly, not to beg, but he’s been planning this and second-guessing himself and fine-tuning and fretting so long and he’s ready to share it with her. As much as he loves surprising Jemma, everything between them is better shared. 

Jemma, meanwhile, does not seem to understand the urgency. She’s teasing him, primping her hair in an entirely unnecessary fashion to draw out the anticipation. 

“Unless it’s Stephen Hawking or JK Rowling waiting on that beach, I can hardly see why you’re so worked up,” she replies calmly. “It can’t be that incredible.” 

“Oh, it is,” he assures her proudly. He’s abandoned his earlier attempts to downplay his surprise. “Prepare yourself to be wowed.” 

She sighs dramatically, but she’s clearly fighting a smile when she turns to him and stretches out her hand, wiggling her fingers. “Well, come on then.” 

His heart is in his throat and stomach and tearing out of his chest all at once as he leads her outside and they start along the water, away from the resort. The sand is only ever-so-slightly damp from the earlier rain when it’s kicked up against their ankles. The sky has returned to clear, the stars resplendent as they stretch away over the ocean. 

Before they round the first bend, Fitz pivots to stand in front of Jemma and halts her with a hand on her waist. “For this last bit I’m going to have to cover your eyes.” 

“Blindfolding me, Fitz?” Jemma rolls her eyes. “We didn’t need to leave the hut if that’s what you’re into.”

“Shut up,” he chides fondly, and he covers her eyes with the hand not still holding hers. Her eyelashes brush rapidly against his palm and fingers, but he squeezes her hand reassuringly and he feels her relax, her eyes drifting shut. 

Gently, he coaxes her forward, sweeping the sand with his foot to even it for her and ensure she doesn’t stumble on stray shells. Jemma follows his lead cautiously. He thought this would be a challenge – honestly he’s astonished she gave in so easily. Blind trust and surrendering to someone else’s guidance are not Jemma’s strong suits. She still creeps forward, not totally accepting of his direction, but she’s impressively compliant. 

And then they’re there. Fitz triple-checks with a quick glance that everything is where it should be. He’s had help from the resort staff and they must’ve just left.   
He takes a deep breath, briefly savors the stillness of the air and Jemma’s face upturned slightly towards him, and then he lowers his hand. 

When Jemma finally opens her eyes, they wander first, lazily, to Fitz’s face, and she smiles as if instinctively. He nearly throws the plan to the wind to just kiss her right then and there. 

But then she looks past him, to the picnic blanket spread over the beach and the candles flickering from where they are wedged in the sand and the tropical flower petals sprinkled everywhere, the champagne and glasses. 

He opens his mouth to explain before she can jump too far ahead, but she interrupts him. 

“I love you,” she sighs, eyes sparkling with tears and candlelight. 

“I – what?” Fitz splutters. “No, you can’t do that, that’s my line!” 

“What?!” 

“That’s – that was supposed to be the whole point!” he exclaims, waving behind him. “I put this together to tell you that, because I’ve meant to say it a thousand times but I wanted to say it intentionally, and grandly, not just casually, but then you—“

“Did I steal your thunder? Oh, Fitz,” Jemma laughs and pulls him to her by their joined hands. They stand as if poised to waltz. “I may have said it first but I certainly didn’t put together an extravagant magnificent surprise for the occasion.” 

“Are you admitting I’m the more romantic one?” he mumbles, beginning to feel mollified. 

“Just this once.” Finally she kisses him, so sweetly he thinks he might die from wanting to freeze this moment. But if he does, he’ll never get to feel what loving Jemma more is like, and he knows that is what is ahead of him. For the rest of his life. When he pulls back she is crying in earnest. “You’ve still not said it.”

“What?”

“I said it but you still haven’t, unless you’re so sore about my upstaging you that you intend to permanently retract the sentiment.” 

“I love you,” he blurts out. They both laugh in amazement and disbelief as the words linger, finally out there. “I’m sure it’s been excruciatingly obvious for some time now, but – I love you.”

“I love you,” Jemma echoes softly.

“They’re such trite words but I find I cannot-“ Fitz chokes with the incredulity of it all. They are safe, they are happy, they are together. “I find I cannot say it enough to you.” 

“Then keep saying it,” Jemma whispers. 

And he does, against her lips, against her temple, against her palm. He murmurs it into her hair long after she’s fallen asleep against his side, watching the stars. When she cannot hear he will say it to the world at large, when she wakes they will revel once more in the ways their souls have found each other. They will never cease repeating this refrain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have any more chapters planned -- not that I don't want to write any but I don't have ideas!! So shoot me some if you've got them. So far FS have been here for 3 of the 6 days of their vacation lawl. I know this chapters feels like an ending but it doesn't have to be. 
> 
> Thank you for your undying patience y'all are the best friends a girl could want. Seriously. I miss you all so much. 
> 
> And sorry Tash for not having this be a proposal haha. Was tempted to comment on your comment and be like ummm this is awkward


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lololol i don't even know what this fic is anymore it's just rambling nonsense so honestly if you have seychelles ideas not already covered, there are potentially 14 more chapters...

“This is the first morning we’ve slept in,” Fitz observes idly, his fingers lightly drumming on the sheets over Jemma’s hip as she lays along his side.

“It is not!” She runs through their vacation thus far as he watches her with a little grin. “How have we been here for three days and only just now slept in?”

“You’re the one with the schedule,” he reminds her.

“Well, we should make an effort to do this more often,” she says firmly. She pats his bare chest and nods assertively.

Fitz scoffs, “What, in the two days of vacation we have left?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Jemma groans. “But no, I mean, after. When we’re back at the base. We should… sleep in, take days off, even… play hooky.”

“Jemma Simmons!” he breathes in mock horror.

“What can I say?” she chortles. “You know how some people’s true personalities are revealed when they drink alcohol? Scientific studies pending, of course. Sex with you brings out the best in me.”

She grins up at him as cheekily as she can manage; he just laughs, the pink in his cheeks the perfect mix of embarrassed and giddy and exhilarated. “I know you mean that to be romantic—“

“It’s very romantic!”

“It’s prime material for a million dirty jokes that we’re both too refined to make, Jemma. It’s not romantic.”

There’s something about these early hours where nothing can touch them. She’s heard enough clichés about waking up next to the person you love to be wary of falling into such traps herself but – well, now they’re _officially_ in love and even when she woke up this morning and thought for a few minutes that they were back in the Playground, she felt uncontainable bliss. The whole thing is patently ridiculous but she feels drunk on Fitz and on them and on how _right_ she feels. And she’ll be damned if she apologizes for that.

“Do you think we should call the base?” she asks sleepily. “Just to check in?”

“That’s how spies’ honeymoons always go wrong in movies. Not – not that this is a honeymoon, of course,” he adds hastily, and Jemma laughs into his shoulder because he’s so nervous about all of this, even though they’ve both been pretty clear about planning to spend their lives together one way or another. “Only – it’s better not to ask.”

“I suppose so.” From this angle she can see the blue in the shadow at the base of his neck, the auburn in his otherwise dark scruff, the pink around his nails where one hand rests on her arm. The sorts of things one would paint, if she had any such talent. “Admittedly, having a honeymoon superior to this vacation would prove rather challenging. We could just elope now and save ourselves the trouble of fretting.”

“Jemma, he says threateningly, as she laughs again – she can’t remember laughing this much ever, not in primary school or at the Academy or even in those light early days on the Bus. “We’ve already established I’m rubbish at reading when you’re having a lark. You can’t say these things.”

“Don’t worry, I know you’d sooner remove your appendix yourself without local anesthetic than get married without your mother in attendance.”

Fitz blanches, pretending to vomit all over her. “As hyperboles go, Jemma, that was entirely unnecessary.”

“…Which is why I had her flown in!” she announces dramatically, sitting up so the sheet falls away from her naked torso and throwing her arms in the air.

“You – you – you did _what_?” Fitz splutters.

She tilts her head at him with a true Cheshire cat smile and he groans.

“Bloody hell, Jemma. You’ll give me an aneurism before we’re thirty.”

“You will not,” she tuts, settling back against him, rubbing his stomach to get him to relax after her little joke. “I’ve done your physicals for years, your heart is perfectly healthy.”

“Not if you carry on this way, it’s not!” He glances down his own torso to where she’s making soothing passes over his skin and his lips just barely twitch in what she knows from years of intimate study is definite amusement. “Well, that’s one thing I’ll be looking forward to after our return to base.”

“What’s that?”

“My annual physical. Imagine it’ll be a bit… different this year than in the past.”

“Oooh,” she breathes dramatically, shimmying slightly against him. “Challenge accepted. I’ll break out the _big_ needles this time.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” he panics, grabbing her wrists to hold her in place. “If you’d rather I let Agent May do my physical—“

“Oh, no, _please_ do,” Jemma interrupts. “I would pay _so much_ to see that. Or not even to see it, because that would be strange and exhibitionist and potentially a violation of patient-doctor privacy rights, but just to see your face afterwards, your inability to speak to May for three days—“

“Once,” Fitz snarls, wrapping his arms around her waist and rolling her over as she laughs beneath him. “That happened _once_ , which was your damn fault—“

“I had the flu!”

“What kind of double PhD gets the _flu_?” He shakes his head despairingly. “Pure negligence. Don’t know why we let you hold our lives in your germ-infested hands. I’m afraid we’ll have to revoke your stethoscope, Dr. Simmons.”

“I dare you to try,” she smirks.

“I’ll search you,” he warns, dropping just within kissing distance of her jaw.

“Yes, because I brought my _stethoscope_ to the _Seychelles_ , Fitz.”

“Do you – do you not want me to search you?” Fitz clarifies with feigned ignorance and confusion. “Because I thought...”

“Oh!” Cottoning on, Jemma flings her arms to the side and shakes her hair out of her face. “Search away, Agent Fitz.”

 

 


End file.
